


Karkat Vantas' RomCom Life

by Quilly



Series: Life with Dirk and Jane [4]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Karkat Vantas is a much put-upon den mother, M/M, Self-Harm, Sherlockbound, Suicidal Thoughts, and by crush we mean crushing hatred and irritation, but nothing graphic because that's not how I roll, here enjoy this instead of dirk and jane: wherever we are part 2, i think i confused myself somewhere along the way, if friendships were quadrants karkat would be overloaded, karkat has a crush on everything that moves, the Sherlockbound version of All The Ships Are Canon, watch in awe as I raise more questions than I answer, welcome to Altville, where did all these family feels come from, where the quadrants are different and the points don't matter!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:06:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quilly/pseuds/Quilly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas, and this is your life.</p><p>Part of the Sherlockbound Universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Eridan

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, here it is, the thing I'm working on that is NOT Dirk and Jane: Wherever We Are part 2! To be honest, working on this has helped me to work on Part 2, and I was tired of Reichenbach Grimdark Sadness. Also, working out most of Karkat's past and his past relationships has also helped me to figure out how to resolve Dirk and Jane as a whole, so there's that. Anyway. Enjoy!
> 
> NOW WITH A COVER, COURTESY OF THE LOVELY SPLICKEDYLIT!: http://24.media.tumblr.com/b9eb59016b4870431e333c2ca35432f2/tumblr_mnfvqvn8hj1rz9wo6o3_1280.jpg

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are two and a half sweeps old (that’s five in human years, your teacher tells you).

 

You like coloring and snack time, but not sharing time or nap time. You like your crayons and toys _just so_. Sollux always mixes up the colors when Teacher makes you let him borrow your red. And the dummy dumb seadweller kid kicks in his sleep!

 

You don’t really like the seadweller kid. He talks down to Teacher and everyone else and looks down his nose at you. It’s not fair that he’s tall and you’re short. You wanna be tall so you can make everybody listen to what you’ve gotta say. You’re a good leader. At least, you would be if everyone would listen to you!  But Mama says you need time to grow into yourself. Whatever that means. She says the same thing about Kankri sometimes, too, but Kankri is boring and talks too much. He’ll never be a good leader.

 

The seadweller marches over to where you’re sitting and you hunch over your picture.

 

“Hey! Shrimp!” he says, and you crinkle your nose at the name, “gimme your purple!”

 

“No, get your own,” you snarl, clutching your crayon box close. They’re _your_ crayons. Mama got them special for you before the first day of school. And your red is all blue. You don’t _wanna_ have your purple ruined, too!

 

Eridan stomps his foot. “I just gotta borrow it for a sec,” he says, voice bubbling weirdly on some of his words. “I’ll give it right back!”

 

“No!”

 

Well, he makes a pass for the crayon, and you bite him, and that gets both of you put in the time-out buckets (all the troll parents turned funny colors when Teacher talked about that, including Mama. You don’t get why). You’re hunched up in the bucket and sniffling very quietly to yourself when the seadweller pokes your shoulder.

 

“Hey. Hey. Shrimp.”

 

“I’m not Shrimp!” you yell, which earns you another scolding from Teacher. When she walks away you whisper, “I’m Karkat.”

 

“Hey Kar, wanna cracker?”

 

You stare at him as he slips an animal cracker in his mouth. He blinks at you, eyes magnified by his glasses to an enormous degree, and holds one out. Well…he’s kind of a jerk, but you _are_ in time-out during snack time. You accept the cracker.

 

“I’m Eridan,” he says. “Eridan Ampora.”

 

You jerk your head and chew on your cracker. He waves another one under your nose, and you take it, nipping a little at his fingers.

 

“Fanks.”

 

“Whatever.”

 

He says everything so weird, but that word sounds _really_ weird. Too many wavy sounds. You swallow your mouthful of cracker and hold out your hand for another one. He puts it in your palm.

 

By the end of that day you’ve let him borrow your purple crayon and argued about which was better, crabs or seahorses, and when you go home and tell Mama all about him she goes a little stiff but smiles. You don’t mind much. You’re busy trying to remember the numbers to call Sollux’s house so you can yell at him about ruining your blue and red crayons some more.

 

After about a week, during which time you’ve gotten Sollux to stop trying to zap Eridan during recess and taught Eridan how to play Swing Dodgeball (it’s your favorite game, and you’re the best at it!), Eridan invites both you and Sollux over to play at his house.

 

“It’ll be fun!” he says, and though his arms are crossed and he’s not looking at either one of you his cheeks are all purple and his foot is shuffling in the dirt. You look at Sollux, who glares at you, and you both shrug.

 

“I’ll need to ask my mom, but I think it’ll be okay.”

 

“Dependth on what MT thayth,” Sollux lisps.

 

When Mama comes to pick you up after school you, Eridan, and Sollux manage to drag your respective guardians together. Mama and Mr. Captor already know each other. Eridan’s guardian is a big tall seatroll with a huge set of scars on his face. He looks so intimidating. Mama scoops you up and holds you on her hip. She looks scared and angry. Mr. Captor holds Sollux’s hand and frowns.

 

“Eridan,” the seatroll says, “go play with your…friends…while I talk to the grown-ups.”

 

“Yes, Father,” Eridan says, and you squirm until Mama lets you down and follow Eridan and Sollux to the deserted playground.

 

“What d’you think they’re talking about?” you ask, threading your fingers through the links on the fence.

 

“I don’t think it’th going tho well,” Sollux says, hunched down on the grass. Even from here you can see the faint blue and red sparks jumping between Mr. Captor’s horns.

 

Eridan doesn’t say anything, but he chews his lip raw.

 

When the grown-ups come to fetch you, all three of you are still attached to the fence, staring at them. Mama gives you a thin smile. Mr. Captor’s face is blank. Mr. Ampora is scowling.

 

Mama explains that she doesn’t want you going over to Eridan’s house, but that him and Sollux are coming over to your house instead. And it’s gonna be a sleepover! You’re so excited you don’t even try to hit Kankri when he starts lecturing you about bouncing off the walls.

 

It’s a fun weekend, the best ever! Even if Sollux and Eridan argue all the time, they stop when you yell at them. You play Sollux’s video games and eat snacks and try really hard to stay up late! You all fall asleep on the couch anyway, though. When Mr. Captor and Mr. Ampora show up to take Sollux and Eridan home, you’re sad, but know better than to ask for another few hours. Mama is very tense and weird around Mr. Ampora.

 

On the last day before winter break, you and Sollux and Eridan cook up the scheme that if all three of you show up at Eridan’s house together, your guardians will have no choice but to let you stay. So you ignore the car line and get on the bus that goes through Eridan’s neighborhood instead, and you are feeling very clever and sure of yourselves, you three crazy adventurers. Sollux tried to get Aradia to come, too, but she said you were all gonna get in trouble and didn’t want to come along. Shows what she knows!

 

When you make it to Eridan’s house, it’s very big and quiet. He leads the way to the kitchen.

 

“We’ve got really good snacks in here,” he chirps. “My hatchmate Cronus keeps Oreos in the pantry!”

 

“What kind?” Sollux asks, and Eridan is about to answer, but there is a very low giggle and all three of you bunch up in the doorway of the kitchen. Eridan’s fins are fanned wide and he’s standing very straight. You see why very quickly.

 

There’s another troll in the kitchen, a big tall troll with a lot of hair and pink lips. Something in the way she holds herself and grins at all three of you makes you nervous. She walks around the island and stands in front of all three of you, hands on her hips, sharp teeth bared. Something about her bothers you. You can’t figure it out.

 

“Well, well, well, lookie here,” she laughs. “Three little shrimps without supervision! Where’s your daddy, Erifin?”

 

Eridan gulps.

 

“Gave him the slip?” she grins. “Sneak around him?”

 

Eridan nods uncertainly. The troll laughs again.

 

“Well? Move aside, kiddo, let me look at your fronds here,” she orders. Eridan stiffens, then slumps and moves aside. You wish you had a greater barrier between you and her than Sollux’s bony body. He moves in front of you a little as the troll bends over.

 

“I know you two,” she says, her voice sliding like silk. “Captor and Vantas, in the flesh again, huh?”

 

You have no idea what that means. But Sollux’s horns and eyes crackle as she leans in a little closer.

 

“Spittin’ image,” she purrs. Then she stands tall. “Want some ice cream?”

 

And that’s how you came to be eating Phish Food ice cream at Eridan’s house while the weird purpley-pink troll watches you, you in particular. You’re not feeling very brave or clever anymore. You’re feeling small and scared inside. Something about this troll isn’t…right. You don’t know why. Sollux and Eridan, on either side of you, wriggle now and then. None of you say anything.

 

In fact, that’s what you’re doing when Mama and Mr. Captor burst into the house, Mr. Ampora hot on their tails. You can tell by the look on Mama’s face that you’re about to get the punishment of a lifetime and you blink against the welling tears. Then the troll turns around and Mama goes very pale. Mr. Captor does for her what Sollux did for you and moves ahead, just a little.

 

“Ain’t this a lovely reunion?” the troll barks a laugh. You flinch. “Porrim. Mituna. Long time, no sea.”

 

She twirls a piece of hair around her finger and winks at Mr. Captor. “Maybe not so long.”

 

He goes a little yellow. You look at Sollux, who shrugs.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

 

“I was invited,” the troll sighs. “Wasn’t expecting the fry.”

 

“They weren’t supposed to be here,” Mama says firmly. “Neither of us knew where they’d gone.”

 

“Slippery little fish, huh?” the troll grins. “Even you, _Dualscar_?”

 

Mr. Ampora colors a little but doesn’t say anything.

 

The troll simpers and moves so she’s not half-guarding you, and Mr. Captor and Mama rush to pick you and Sollux up. Mama’s holding you so hard it hurts, but you don’t argue. Eridan’s magnified eyes don’t remove themselves from Mr. Ampora’s stern glare.

 

“Well, this was fun,” the troll yawns, “but I think the kiddies have had enough excitement for one day, don’t you?” She saunters forward, and Mama flinches back a little. The troll grins at her, then at you, and pinches your cheek. You don’t like it. Her arm has a lot of strength in it, however gentle she is in rolling your cheekmeat between her fingers. Then she leans forward and kisses you, right between the horns, and the spot is chilly.

 

“Cute little kid you’ve got, Porrim,” she says lightly. “Almost as cute as the last one.”

 

Mama hisses. It’s a small sound, but menacing.

 

The troll walks away, taking a moment to wink at Mr. Captor, and heads for the stairs.

 

“I’ll be in the pool, Cro. Lemme know when your guests are gone.”

 

Mr. Ampora tears his eyes from the troll’s retreating form to fix Mama and Mr. Captor with twin glares.

 

“This has been a taxing afternoon,” he says, his voice weird and bubbly like Eridan’s. “I would appreciate it if you would both leave.”

 

“On our way, fishbreath,” Mr. Captor says, and Mama swats at him.

 

“Thank you for your help, Cronus,” Mama says, and her voice is stiff. Mr. Ampora gives a mechanical nod, and you and Sollux are whisked out of the house before you can even say goodbye to Eridan.

 

The ride home is silent, but when you get home the floodgates open. Mama yells at you like she’s never yelled before, until by the end you can hardly breathe for crying. Mama wraps you up in her arms and strokes your hair, murmuring apologies.

 

“But, Karkat,” she says, “that was a very wrong thing to do. If you’re going somewhere, you need to tell me first and make sure it’s alright.”

 

“Yes, Mama,” you finally say. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see where Eridan lives.”

 

She rocks you back and forth for a long time.

 

“Mama?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Who was that troll?”

 

Mama rests her cheek on the top of your head. The warmth of her face finally overcomes the tingly cool spot between your horns.

 

“Someone very dangerous,” Mama says. “Would you like a fluffergrub sandwich?”

 

The deliciousness of the treat drives all memory of your other questions away, for the moment. You decide to ask when Mama isn’t blinking green tears away every time she fingers the chain around her neck.

 

The next time you see Eridan, you punch him in the teeth.

 

“What was that for?” he whines, spitting out a sharp tooth. He’s such a baby. It’ll grow back in a couple of days.

 

You’re not exactly sure how to say why you punched him, so you just shove your hands in your hoodie pocket and mumble, “Happy Twelfth Perigree’s.”

 

Within another few minutes you’re back to being friends, all memory of the strange pinkish-purple troll shoved firmly to the back of your mind. Eridan won’t ask you to come over for a very long time.


	2. Kankri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, here we goooo! Chapter Two, awwww yeeeeah. In case you couldn't tell, I'm hoping to have a fairly steady update schedule of every Wednesday, sooooo yeah. If anything below about the world doesn't make sense or you have a question, feel free to ask! I'm not spending nearly enough time on worldbuilding but I'm forgoing exposition in favor of story, so there! Enjoy!

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are four sweeps old (or about nine human years. You’re supposed to be practicing the math).

 

Your mother has informed you that you are gaining two sisters.

 

You grimaced, at first. You already have a “brother”. Kankri is older than you, he talks too much, and he sucks. You don’t wanna have more trolls in the house who’re loud and talk too much and suck. Assuming they’re trolls at all. Mom has a weird thing about taking in strays sometimes.

 

But, standing by the car, obediently and irritably holding Kankri’s hand while Mom talks to a carapacian at the front desk of the complex that squats over the Mother Grub catacombs, you can’t say you’re not interested, either. You shuffle your feet.

 

“Stand still, Karkat,” Kankri drones. You stick your tongue out at him and wriggle a little more. “We don’t want to make our future guests uncomfortable.”

 

“What does me being still have to do with anything?” you grouse. He glances at you, and you make sure to make a face at him. He thinks he’s so smart, in middle school and reading at a college level, whatever that means. You wanna punch him hard in the face a lot of the time.

 

“It means that whilst the trolls Mother has decided to adopt are sharing hivespace with us, you need to conduct yourself in a manner that is both inoffensive and considerate,” he says calmly. “We do not want to make them feel uncomfortable.”

 

You chew your lip and glare at the building. “You don’t want sisters either, do you?”

 

“That is beside the point,” Kankri says quickly, but his cheeks flush a little. You elbow him in the side.

 

After what feels like six billion years, Mom finally comes out, two troll girls behind her. The older one is Kankri’s age and you’re a little scared of her, though you can’t say why. The younger one is your age and looks just like Mom, but younger. You can’t decide how you feel about her just yet. She looks at you and smiles, just a little.

 

“Karkat, Kankri,” Mom says, standing in front of you, “this is Porrim and Kanaya Maryam.”

 

At the last name and the obvious jade symbols on their clothes, the pieces click together for you—these are Mom’s relatives. You wonder which one is the descendant and which one is the hatchmate. (For instance, Kankri is your hatchmate, related to you and the older Kankri you came from, but descended directly from another Karkat, older than even Mom. It’s weird and you don’t really get it, but Mom’s explained it enough times that you have a basic understanding. What do trolls have against name variety, anyway? It’s confusing). Probably Porrim is the hatchmate—she has Mom’s name and she’s older. No duh, Karkat.

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Kankri says, voice bland as he lets go of your hand and extends it towards Porrim. “I’m Kankri Vantas.”

 

“Likewise,” Porrim grins, shaking his hand. Kankri extends the same courtesy to Kanaya, who gives his hand a firm shake but doesn’t say anything. Porrim looks at you expectantly. You shuffle your feet in the dirt.

 

“’m Karkat,” you mumble. Her grin makes you uncomfortable.

 

“Shall we go home, children?” Mom says, and herds all of you into the car. You’re squashed between Kankri and Kanaya, trying very hard not to get in either of their personal spaces. If you encroach on Kankri, he’ll lecture you on consent and the importance of maintaining a proper distance for, like, an hour. If you accidentally touch Kanaya…you don’t know what she’ll do, but you’re not sure you wanna find out.

 

The settling-in period is hard on you. Kanaya’s in your class now, and she fits right in with your friends and makes a lot of her own. Your gut twists when Eridan casually asks her to hang out along with you guys at the playground. He’s starting to get kinda weird. For some reason no matter how hard you try to set boundaries and draw a line between you and Kanaya, the more intent she seems on wrecking all of that.

 

She reminds you of your mom and you do _not_ need that when you’re throwing rocks at birds and she’s standing over your shoulder.

 

There’s a kid in your class named Gamzee who seems to think you’re his best friend who will _not_ leave you alone…except when Kanaya’s around. For whatever reason he’s skittish around her. You guess that’s kinda cool, but then again you’re not sure if it actually is, because as much as you dislike Gamzee, you dislike Kanaya and her influence more.

 

You’re in a pickle, alright. It’d be even easier if Porrim didn’t hug you at least thirty times a day and make cooing comments about how cute you are. You’re not _cute_. You’re adorabloodthirsty.

 

And, of course, you can’t bring this up with your mom, because they’re hers. And, if you dig down deep enough and think about it, maybe that’s what you’re really bugged about. For as long as you can remember it’s just been you and her and Kankri, your jade-blooded mother taking care of you mutant-blooded freaks. Now that she has other trolls in the hive, trolls with her same blood color and symbol…you might be feeling a little left out. Replaced. Or something.

 

But you’re four sweeps, so you don’t know how to say all that.

 

So you do what comes naturally: you put chewed gum under Kanaya’s chair, Pop Rocks in her sopor, salt in the sugar shaker when Porrim makes her coffee (and Mom lets her drink it, too), and generally make yourself a holy terror. You plot with Sollux, who does less plotting and more “you’re tho gonna get in trouble KK”, and all in all you’re feeling like a righteous harbinger of well-deserved mayhem when you get the wake-up call of your life.

 

Or wake-up slap.

 

Across your face.

 

Hard.

 

You didn’t know Kanaya could hit so hard, even though she’s taller than you, and you’re too shocked to cry or anything. You just stare at her, blinking fast and willing your eyes not to well up, while she glares and holds her fists down at her sides.

 

“I do not appreciate being treated like this, Karkat,” she says, and even when she’s angry her voice is soothing and cultured. You envy that. “When Miss Porrim wanted us to come and live with her, she told me and my sister that you were well-behaved. I don’t believe Miss Porrim is a liar, but you are not well-behaved in the slightest!”

 

She kinda reminds you of Kankri, but without the pretentious airs. You feel a hot flush of shame crawl up your neck.

 

“Well, you’re—you’re just a—” Your usual way with words is failing you beneath the hard scrutiny of her glare. You stomp your foot and feel the floodgates break. “You’re just a big stupid stupidhead!”

 

You abscond and clamber up into the old treehive Mr. Captor built back when you were a wiggler, resolving yourself to sob into your knees for the evening and try and think of a better zinger. It’s hard to do when a loop of “ _she’s replacing you_ ” keeps playing in your head. Mama wouldn’t be out of line to do that. For one, you’re a bad kid. For another, you’re a freak of troll nature. You know humans and carapaces bleed the same color, but you’re a troll. You’re not supposed to be this color. You grab your hair around your horns and yank and pull and scratch and bonk your forehead into your knees repeatedly. This sucks. You suck.

 

You hear a quiet throat-clearing, and look through the haze of tears to see Kankri standing on the ladder.

 

“Can I come up?” he asks, and you bare your teeth at him.

 

“Go away!”

 

He doesn’t, but neither does he come up into the treehive.

 

“What’s wrong?”

 

“Mom’s gonna replace me,” you blurt. You hadn’t meant to say that. But you did. Kankri’s brow furrows.

 

“What makes you say that?”

 

You clench your arms around your legs and bury your face in your jeans. He shuffles on the ladder.

 

“I’m coming in.”

 

You make no move to stop him. He sits across from you and folds his legs underneath him.

 

“Karkat,” he says cautiously, “am I right in deducing that you are concerned that our mother has transferred her affections from us to Porrim and Kanaya?”

 

You prop your face up slightly to glare at him.

 

“You realize that’s a foolish train of thought, correct?” he says, and though his words are dry his expression and tone are both earnest. “Mother loves us. She’s cared for us for all our lives. She raised your ancestor at great personal risk, at the time. The introduction of her hatchmate and descendant won’t change that in the slightest degree.”

 

You scowl deeper. “You don’t know that. You’re just using big words to sound smart.”

 

“I can assure you—” he begins, then hesitates. “I…”

 

You grind the heels of your hands into your eyes.

 

“You can’t even talk normal anymore,” you grumble.

 

“I can too,” he protests. “I just…am not sure how to say this in a manner that will convey my sincerity.”

 

“Use normal words, dum-dum,” you sniff, still scrubbing at your leaking oculars.

 

“I…think…that you are being silly,” he says finally. “Mother has shown no indication of—that is, she has never given either of us any reason to doubt that she loves us, has she?”

 

You sniff harder.

 

“I mean…she can love trolls other than you and me, can’t she?”

 

You blink. You hadn’t quite thought of it that way before.

 

“So…it’s not too crazy to think that she loves us and her hatchmates, is it?”

 

You slowly shake your head.

 

“There you go,” Kankri says, offering a weak smile. “Your overreaction aside, it should have been clear to you that Mother has no intention of ceasing her affection for either one of us, just because she also has affection for Porrim and Kanaya. I would recommend you speak with Mother immediately, after apologizing to Kanaya for all the creatively awful things you’ve done to her the past couple of weeks, and lay before her your concerns and—”

 

“You’re doing the babbling thing again,” you mumble. He snaps his mouth closed, then offers another small smile.

 

“Even if Mother somehow no longer cared for you, Karkat, I…I can say, with full confidence, that I certainly do.”

 

It’s strange, because you think Kankri just said he loves you. And you think you probably love him back, even though he’s a blabbermouth. You finish scrubbing your face, climb over towards him, and give him an awkward and short squeeze. He harrumphs and clears his throat, but squeezes you back.

 

You do apologize to Kanaya, and talk to Mom, and even though she grounds you for a while for all the stuff you did, you don’t really mind. Kanaya brings you puzzles and snacks and talks to you, and you find out, surprise surprise, you actually like talking to her. You’re still scared of Porrim, but don’t squirm quite so fiercely when she hugs you in the future.

 

And you quit ragging on Kankri so much. Just a little. Even though it’s fun to make fun of him sometimes. When you trip up and bang head-first into a door, cutting your forehead open, he’s the one who bandages you up, after all. And Kanaya holds your hand through it. You figure it’s nice, this troll disease known as family.


	3. Terezi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three! Mini-update report: Wherever We Are pt2 is clipping along pretty well; it's a little over halfway done. And I think there will be about ten chapters in this fic, so by the time I'm done updating this one, I hope to be able to post the last chapter of this fic and Life with Dirk on the same day. Anyway. Enjoy!

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are six sweeps (thirteen, you’re supposed to say, but whatever, human reckoning is stupid).

 

You’re about to punch this troll sitting behind you in the snout if she doesn’t stop sniffing your neck.

 

Kanaya, sitting two seats ahead and one over, glances back at you and shakes her head. You stick your tongue out at her but don’t turn around and give the chump behind you what-for. At the blackboard your teacher drones on and on about stuff like “the Tri-Species Agreement” and “the Cherub Wars”, which you ignore because _bo-ring_. Eridan’ll just give you all the answers to the test anyway. He’s a good-for-nothing lamebrain, but at least he makes good study guides for History. When he’s not trying to flirt with the entire athletics department.

 

_Sniff, sniff, sniff. Liiiiick._

 

“What is your problem?” you screech, whipping around to face the bane of your existence: one Terezi Pyrope. Her freakish tongue is still between her ridiculous teeth in a huge grin, and suddenly you feel the looming threat of Mr. Smithers behind you.

 

“Mr. Vantas, Miss Pyrope,” he says in a dry voice, “please come with me.”

 

And, hating yourself, cursing everybody in the room making the stupid “oooooh!” sound of shame and humiliation, you shove all your junk in your bag and swing it onto your back, ignoring both Kanaya and Terezi as you slouch behind Mr. Smithers down to the office.

 

You sit in your favorite chair in the office and wait while Mr. Smithers fills out what looks suspiciously like detention forms and sigh, wiping excess slobber off the back of your neck. Terezi hums annoyingly and grins at you when she notices you looking.

 

“You taste like cherry pie, Mr. Vantas,” she murmurs. You feel the familiar jolt of panic and fury and check yourself for scratches or bruises before what she says sinks in.

 

“You’re so full of—”

 

There’s a warning throat-clearing and you pipe down, glaring at the grumpy office aide, Mr. Noir. You’ve heard him say far worse to the principal’s face, but his scowl and glance back are pretty effective in shutting you up. You have a curious camaraderie with Mr. Noir. He’s the only one here who doesn’t think you’re a total waste of space.

 

Well, him and Kanaya. And Gamzee. And Sollux and Eridan. And—alright, he’s the only _adult_ here who doesn’t think you’re a total waste of space.

 

Mr. Smithers slaps you and Terezi with lunch detentions for a week and gives a lecture that almost takes up the rest of the class period on the virtues of remaining quiet and attentive during class, which you ignore with a scowl at your shoes and Terezi seems to sap up, though her blank red eyes are glazed.

 

Your first lunch detention takes place today, so you bid sweet farewell to your only half-hour of the day that doesn’t suck and plop your bagged lunch on an unoccupied desk in Mr. Smithers’ room, as far away from Terezi as you can manage. She sits behind you again. You play musical chairs until Mr. Smithers gets back in the room and snaps at you both. Then you settle in a corner, and she sits in front of you. At least she’s not sniffing at your neck again.

 

A square of paper flies over her shoulder and lands on your sandwich.

 

_1’M SORRY 1 GOT YOU D3T3NT1ON_

 

Well at least she apologized. You tuck the note under your water bottle and continue eating in silence.

 

Another folded note lands on your desk.

 

_4LSO, YOU SM3LL D3L1C1OUS._

 

Aaaand there’s the catch. You make a small growl in the back of your throat and ignore the note.

 

Lunch is over without further incident and you’re allowed to go to your next class with nothing but a warning glare and a reminder that you’re to meet in Mr. Smithers’ room for lunch the rest of the week. You give a weary wave and head off to your English class.

 

English is a little bit more of an ordeal, because Gamzee is in that class.

 

Gamzee is a troll you met back in second grade, and since you’ve known him he’s been slow, sleepy, and sweet. He’s also fixated on you and called you “best friend” before he even knew what your name was. You just thought he was a weirdo back then, but now you know that he’s a weirdo with a guardian you want to punch and a sopor addiction you’ve been trying to shake him out of since last year. He spaces out in class, so you sit behind him to prod him in the back and wake him up when he starts dozing. He’s barely scraping by, and only then because you and Kanaya are helping him. He acts surprised to see a test and doesn’t respond to the teachers when they threaten him. Alright, while it’s funny to watch them pop gaskets over how much he doesn’t care, it’s also worrisome. You’d rather keep Gamzee in your same grade. He’s one of the few people you can actually stand.

 

He whistles when you tell him about detention and pats you on the head, way too close to a _pap_ for your comfort. You feel your face heat up and bat his hand away. He returns it to his desk with a grin and a shrug.

 

“Well don’t that just suck tits, bro?” he says easily, only to be sharply reprimanded by the teacher. “Gettin’ all up and punished just ‘cuz some crazy sis got her lick on.” He winks at you. “Betcha tasted good to her, best friend.”

 

You flush harder and punch him in the arm.

 

Day two of detention, and your life is hell. Mr. Smithers is at a teacher’s conference during lunch and left you with a sub who so far has spent his entire time hiding in the bathroom, and Terezi is unstoppable, flinging question after question at you about your blood color and your favorite movies and the entire time sallying forth into your personal space to sniff you or whatever you’re eating. The sixth time you feel her nose in your ear you lash out and peg her in the sniffer. She sits back hard.

 

“You complete douche!” she cries, and her eyes are welling up all teal and you look down to try and avoid the incoming wave of shame and regret. “I _need_ that to see!”

 

“I thought you used a cane,” you reply, and while she gingerly touches her nose and wipes her eyes.

 

“That’s for decoration,” she snips. “And for shin-drubbings.”

 

You toy with your sandwich. You hadn’t started eating it yet, and you’ve noticed that Terezi never eats. You sigh and hold it out to her.

 

She sniffs it gingerly, licks the crust (and also your fingers), and snatches it out of your hand, devouring it like a wild animal. You roll your eyes.

 

“Geez, has no one taught you how to eat without resembling a feral meowbeast?”

 

“Nope!” Terezi says cheerfully, wiping jelly from her mouth. “I grew up on my own!”

 

You pause.

 

“Like…alone?”

 

“No, not totally alone,” she shrugs. “At a care center. Then they moved me to the foster homes.”

 

You blink. You hadn’t realized…well, of course not, because you’re the most ignorant and inconsiderate piece of garbage you know, but still. She’s sucking on her fingers when your eyes flick back to her.

 

“How long were you at the care center?”

 

“A sweep or two after I pupated,” she shrugs. “Not a big deal. Meeting humans and carapaces was a different experience, but I could see then, so no one got on my case.”

 

“How’d you go blind?”

 

Ugh. Way to blunder right into that one.

 

She doesn’t really seem to mind, though. “Fight with one of the other kids. It’s a really long story.”

 

You get a hold of yourself and don’t question her further.

 

“How about you, Mr. Cherry, what’s your secret?”

 

“Secret?” you sniff. “I don’t have secrets. And if I did, they would be _way_ too mysterious and manifold for a common pleb.”

 

“You’re annoying.”

 

“ _You’re_ annoying!”

 

It devolves into childish namecalling from there. But you’re not really angry at her. It’s almost fun.

 

Day three, you’ve brought an extra sandwich just for her. She eats it and asks about your guardian. You’re trying to remember to call her by her name, like Sollux does his guardian, but you slip up now and then. Terezi grins when you call her Mama on accident. You flush. You haven’t called her Mama consciously and continuously since you were four. You also tell her about your hatchmate Kankri, and she listens and nods and agrees that he’s a total tool but doesn’t insult him further, which a small part of you that remembers Kankri bandaging your scraped knees appreciates.

 

You almost talk about your direct genetic ancestor before realizing  that’s still a really bad idea. You have no idea how she’d react, and besides, that would reveal way too much about yourself. You still think she hasn’t quite figured out where the “cherry” smell is coming from.

 

She tells you about the families that come and go. She likes the house she’s in now. They gave her her own computing device, which she’s thoroughly licked, and let her watch TV when they’re gone, which is often. She’s careful to clean up the lick marks before they get back. She talks with such passion about Judge Judy you throw your crumpled-up paper lunch bag at her just to shut her up.

 

Day four Smithers puts the kibosh on speaking. You instead pass the time passing notes and making faces when Smithers’ back is turned.

 

Day five, you definitely think you’ve got some kind of crush on this girl and you don’t know how it happened.

 

On the one hand, she’s infuriating. She sniffs and slobbers her way everywhere and she has the annoying habit of seeing straight through you. On the other, she gets this look on her face when she talks about her childhood that cuts you and doesn’t think your appreciation for romcoms is completely stupid (it’s only marginally stupid in her eyes, which is an accomplishment to you). She…doesn’t smell so bad, herself. Like…citrus, maybe? Or flowers. Something sweet and tart.

 

So when you ask if it’d be okay if you hung out sometime, she giggles and says, “I knew I’d break through your defenses one day!”

 

You flip her off and ask her if she likes video games.

 

You ask because you have a prior engagement to hang out with Sollux and the other losers you’re friends with and invite her along. You’re still too young to actually go somewhere and hang out, unfortunately. You have a brief vision of taking her on a date and squash it thoroughly.

 

She gets along excellently well with your friends. You’re almost insulted how much better they seem to like her over you, but Gamzee is still a lanky growth on your side, so you console yourself with Cheetos and a single solitary sip of awful lukewarm Faygo from Gamzee’s offered bottle. Terezi asks if you’re pale-dating. You blush and throw a pillow at her.

 

You watch as she and Sollux attempt to destroy each other at Mario Kart and ignore Kanaya’s knowing smiles. She knows nothing. You’re just appreciative of a girl who can keep Sollux on his insufferable toes.

 

The weather is warm enough that the next weekend Eridan throws a pool party. You’re old enough to go to Eridan’s house without Porrim having a heart attack, but you still shiver every time you pass through the kitchen. There are a lot of people at this party you don’t know, but you have your close group of friends and that’s enough for you.

 

At least, it was, until Terezi goes stiff and squirrels back inside the house at breakneck speed.

 

Being a good friend, you follow.

 

“He invited her,” she says hollowly.

 

“Who’s her?” you ask, sitting next to her on the couch, where she’s wrapped around a pillow.

 

“Vriska Serket,” Terezi spits.

 

You wait. She doesn’t elaborate.

 

“I’m guessing she’s bad news?”

 

“Uh, _yeah!_ ” Terezi snaps. “She’s the one who—” She cuts herself off, burying her face in the pillow. You gnaw your lip, then touch her shoulder.

 

“Look, whatever’s going on here, you can talk to me about it, alright? I mean, I’m not gonna pry, but…uh…if you want to…I’m here.”

 

She doesn’t move, but after a moment her head shifts and she appraises you with a single solid red eye. Kind of.

 

“Remember when I told you I got into a fight with a friend and that’s what blinded me?” she says dully. You nod.

 

“Vriska’s the friend.”

 

You sit back and absorb that for a moment. Then you frown.

 

“You still haven’t told me that story.”

 

She sighs.

 

“Back at the center,” she says, “me and Vriska were pretty good friends. Like. Hate-friends, almost, but good friends. Aradia was there, too, for a little while. She was cute, so she got adopted before all this went down, but she still played with us sometimes.

 

“Anyway, we used to like playing pretend, only it was really intense, playing with Vriska. We always got into stuff we knew we weren’t supposed to and caused a lot of trouble.” She runs her hand through her hair. You momentarily study her horns, then slap yourself mentally and focus on what she’s saying. “There was a little kid named Tavros that Vriska had a huge crush on, but she didn’t know how to express it, so she bullied him a lot. One day…she took it too far.

 

“We were playing King of the Hill or something stupid like that on the playground, and she pushed Tavros off the wrong side of the top of the tall slide. He fell wrong. Paralyzed his whole lower body. She just laughed about it. Aradia took revenge by calling up ghosts—it’s an ability of hers, don’t interrupt—and Vriska…” Terezi swallows, hard. You resist the urge to touch her. “She got pissed. I mean, no one likes being hounded by ghosts, but I guess Aradia called up some really personal or freaky ones, because next thing I knew, she was mind-controlling some poor punk Aradia knew from preschool and tried to really hurt her through him.”

 

You rub your temples. “She can mind-control people?”

 

“Here and there,” Terezi nods, “but that’s not the point of the story. I hit Vriska in the back of the head and broke her concentration, so Aradia wasn’t seriously hurt, but in retaliation me and Vriska started wrestling around and fighting and…she grabbed a bottle of really harsh cleaner the center workers had out for polishing the floors and poured it in my face.”

 

“And that’s why you’re blind,” you say slowly. Terezi wiggles her eyebrows at you and grins, but it’s not quite as mirthful as it usually is.

 

“I got her back,” she says easily. “Broke her arm and gave her a black eye. All while my eyes were sorta fizzling, too.” You remind yourself not to get on Terezi’s blacklist. “I’m the reason she needs glasses, y’know.”

 

You try to comprehend how one girl could be such a psychopath and fail.

 

“Why didn’t you call the cops or something?” you ask.

 

“Call the cops on a girl who’s barely two sweeps old? Yeah, like that’d happen,” she snorts. “’specially in this town, and where we are on the hemospectrum. I’d get in trouble way before she ever did.”

 

That’s not fair and you know it. You can feel it churning in your gut, a roiling sort of anger and sense of injustice. You say so. She laughs.

 

“Cheer up, grumpyfangs, it’s not a big deal anymore.” She loses her smile and sighs. “I mean, it’s a little bit of a big deal, but it’s…”

 

“Complicated,” you answer, and she nods.

 

You sit there in companionable silence. She’s just told you something huge. You wanna return the favor. You can only think of one story big enough.

 

“You know that guy we talk about in history sometimes? The Signless?”

 

“Yeah. What about him?”

 

You open your mouth, hesitate, then get a hold of yourself. “He’s my ancestor.”

 

She grins. “Yeah, I know.”

 

“ _What?_ ”

 

She tsks. “Honestly, Karkat, you didn’t think I’d piece it together?”

 

You fume.

 

“Exhibit A: his name was Kankri Vantas. Your last name is Vantas, and your hatchmate’s name is Kankri. Easy. Exhibit B: his followers formed into a sort of cult following and took up a modified handcuff symbol as symbols of loyalty. You have a similar symbol on some of your sweaters and on your backpack. Exhibit C: you smell like delicious candy-red goodness. His blood was precisely that color. Therefore, your blood is candy-red.” She nudges you with her shoulder. “Honestly, Karkat, I’m not an idiot. Future District Attorney speaking, remember?”

 

You sulk, but aren’t really mad at her. You figure if most of the student body hasn’t pieced it together by now they’re too hopelessly pan-fried to even be allowed to be released into society. Really, it’s so obvious when she describes it like that.

 

“Yeah…uh…guess I forgot,” you mumble. You kinda wish she would leave, even though you’re the one who followed her in here. She _hmphs_.

 

“Serves you right.”

 

The silence is a little more tension-fraught, because your mind is going three million miles a minute. So she knew this whole time you were a mutant, and she still hung out with you? Sollux and Eridan had no choice—by the time they figured it out, you’d already been friends too long for them to escape without knowing you have ample blackmail material. Kanaya, like Mam—Porrim and Porrim II, seem to have a genetic responsibility towards you and Kankri so they don’t mind. Gamzee you’re not sure even realizes who he is, let alone who you are.

 

She nudges your shoulder again. “Hey. Mr. Cherry Pie.”

 

“What.”

 

She keeps nudging you until you look at her. And when you do that, she is suddenly in your face and…oh.

 

As far as first kisses go, it’s nothing like you imagined. For one, Terezi precedes it by licking you from chin to nose. Then she can’t stop smiling and scraping your mouth with her teeth. Not like you’re the model kisser of the year, but you’re pretty sure it’s not supposed to go like this! After a solid minute of arguing and ordering her to keep her lips involved only, the second kiss goes much better.

 

You start holding hands at school, except for the days when you avoid her because if you hear her stupid laugh _one more time_ you’re gonna hit her, and even though you introduce each other as friends you’re the two who usually slip away from your friends when you go places to practice kissing some more. It’s nice. It’s heavenly. You’re working up the nerve to ask her about putting a label to this thing when she calls you and informs you that she’s getting sent to a foster home out of town.

 

It punches you in the gut. You hang up. She calls you a few more times, then stops.

 

When you work up the nerve to call her back (after you’ve already shredded several pieces of paper trying to write out your feelings and almost break furniture and avoid Mam—Porrim’s meddling), she doesn’t pick up.

 

You send each other a couple of postcards and letters over the course of the summer, but those peter out. You never stop missing her, exactly, but you do figure out how to move on. It sucks. A lot. But since when did anything in your life not suck?

 

You hazard telling Gamzee how you feel, because at least Gamzee is scrambled enough to not remember the conversation five minutes later, and he looks at you with unusually somber eyes and puts his arm around your shoulder. You might let a few tears leak out. Just a few. Then you scrub at your eyes and let sleeping barkbeasts lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And, as anyone who's read Dirk and Jane: We Solve Mysteries knows...this is not the last time Terezi shows up in Karkat's life. He'll get another shot one day. :)


	4. Nepeta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, huzzah! Just as a note, I'm hoping to speed up the posting schedule soon; I want to be completely done with both Sherlock projects by the beginning of June, but I'm not gonna double up posting until I'm completely done writing everything. Which should be soon. So take a moment to enjoy this update and have a wonderful day!

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are eight sweeps old (or seventeen, as the human years go).

 

You are currently in your respite block, mangling your tie and trying not to be so nervous you puke. You are failing miserably. So miserably, you have your trash can at the ready, because _man_ are you gonna hurl at some point. This is stupid. You are stupid. It’s just Prom. What’s the worst that could happen?

 

Besides throwing up on your date, that is.

 

Eridan is watching you and clucking his tongue now and then. Sollux, on the other side of the room, is engrossed in a comic book. Neither of them are any help (mostly because you told Eridan if he didn’t back off and let you handle it you’d ram your fist down his throat. Last time he tied one of your ties he kept trying to touch your face).

 

“Kar, you’re makin a glubbin mess out a that tie,” Eridan says, for the third time in as many minutes.

 

“I’ve got it,” you snarl, though the tiny pop of a stitch lets everyone within earshot know that, no, you don’t got it. Eridan _tsks_ and bats your hands away, pulling the tie over your head and working on undoing the knot. You stew and welcome the hot rush of irritability. It’s overriding your nausea, for now.

 

“Hold still,” he instructs, sliding the newly-untangled tie around your neck. You swallow as he pulls it tight, then loosens it. “There. Now you look less the picture a misery.”

 

“Thanks,” you grumble. You look at yourself and adjust the tie. You hate suits. “Time to go yet?”

 

“Nearly,” Sollux says from behind the comic book. “AA wantth to get pictureth, tho we gotta go thoon.”

 

Your stomach makes a valiant effort for the trash can.

 

“Relax, Kar,” Eridan sighs, patting your shoulder. “Your face is turning white.”

 

You so don’t need this right now. You wonder how painful your death would be if you didn’t show.

 

Knowing Equius, long and painful. He’ll break every bone in your body before finally killing you, and that’s _if_ he makes it before her nutjob of a guardian.

 

You swallow a few times, take a deep breath through your nose, and let the sweet threat of imminent destruction push you out the door. At the very least, you remembered the corsage. Lucky you.

 

Kanaya insists on pictures just before you leave, so you give her a strained smile and let her snap a few, for posterity’s sake (and Porrim’s, because she was distraught over having to work tonight). Your eyes flick to the picture of your mother on the mantel and your throat prickles. You miss her. Kanaya understands, and you appreciate it more than you can say that she squeezes your shoulder instead of hugging you. If she’d hugged you, you’d dissolve. Kanaya looks a lot like her, much more than Porrim does (though that’s because she’s descended from a different troll, closely related. You don’t get it, either. Troll genetics always were a confusing mess to you). You hurriedly hustle Sollux and Eridan out of the door. Kanaya is waiting on her date to show up for a weird goth anti-prom dance in an abandoned warehouse. You’re not worried, she can handle herself. At least, this is what you repeat to yourself every so often.

 

Your little Prom entourage consists of you and your date, Eridan and Feferi, Sollux and Aradia, and Equius as a sort of chaperone. He’s never far from his moirail, which makes your life miserable, but Nepeta’s good at dismissing Equius to a distance more conducive to your healthy state of mind. You tried to get Gamzee to come, too, but…well…he sounded weird on the phone, and brushed you off in a way that’s very not like Gamzee when you asked about it. You let it go. You’ve been trying to wean Gamzee off sopor for a few weeks now, so if he sounds weird you chalk it up to him finally getting his pan on straight.

 

Riding with Sollux in his junktrap of a car to meet your dates, you feel a little bit better, listening to Sollux and Eridan snipe passive-aggressively at each other. It’s familiar, at least. It occurs to you that it’s your senior year and this is the first and last time you’ll get to do something like this. The lump that’s been in your throat since you realized you were graduating this year surfaces again.

 

The park isn’t overflowing with other Prom-goers, which is to your advantage, you suppose. You try to flatten your hair. Maybe make your horns a little more prominent.

 

“Give it up, KK, your hair’th a lotht cauthe,” Sollux chuckles. You flip him off. “Alright, get outta my car. Let’th get thith over with.”

 

You take up biting your lip as the three of you approach the three giggling girls (and one towering surly male, but he doesn’t count) sitting in the gazebo. Your eyes are riveted to the ground. It’s a very interesting ground.

 

“Karkitty!”

 

At the familiar nickname that you hate with a burning passion (no you don’t), your head snaps up, and you take in Nepeta Leijon as she bounces your way, grinning. She’s had a crush on you since you were both four sweeps old and wearing out the knees of your jeans in kickball games. You were too pan-dead to realize that until you were in eighth grade, and then had a debilitating mixture of emotions that basically kept you running away every time she approached you until sometime last year. Yeah, you’re an idiot, but she said yes, didn’t she? Maybe you’re not completely hopeless.

 

Her hair looks different without the hat. Very smooth and shiny. You swallow hard and wordlessly shove the corsage box at her. She coos over it and opens it and puts the corsage in your hands, thrusting her wrist at you. You slip it on and try not to grin too widely when she takes your hand and drags you back with the others.

 

Pictures are a drag, especially since Equius is the one taking them and his freak strength means he has to be very delicate with the camera, and he sits on your other side as you all pile into the limo Feferi rented for the occasion (or maybe just borrowed from her “mom”, you’re not sure). After a little bit of confusion and hassle at the door (over Feferi, since she doesn’t go to your high school, but rather an all-girls private school upstate), you are released into the wild. Whoever decided “safari” was a good Prom theme needs to be drubbed senselessly with a blunt instrument. Nepeta’s eyes go wide and she laughs at everything, her tiny hands in the crook of your arm. You swallow hard and try to think of something inoffensive to say.

 

Somehow or another, you manage it, though it seems to whizz by in a haze of punch-drunk nerves and little moments of clarity. She drags you out for every slow dance except for the ones where she dances with a friend and shoves you at another one of your friends beforehand (you’re pretty sure the dance with Eridan was payback for nearly spilling punch on her; duly noted). You slowly unwind the longer the night draws on, until it’s the last dance and Nepeta’s got her arms around your neck and her head tucked under your chin. You close your eyes and keep your hands on her waist, feeling the beading beneath your fingers and the warm press of one of her horns against the side of your neck.

 

“Karkitty?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Her voice is so very tiny, comfortable, the lilt of a purr at the edges. You close your eyes and hold her a little tighter.

 

You ride that perfect moment into the following week, going so far as to whistle in public whenever you think of it. Some big drama happened in your group while you were busy with your date, but whatever it is, neither Sollux nor Eridan are talking to you about it, so you figure it’s not worth your time. You have a kinda-sorta-maybe matesprit to think of.

 

You ask Nepeta to go on a date with you by borrowing a basket of kittens from the shelter and tying the question to each of their necks with red-and-green-striped ribbons leftover from last Twelfth Perigee, and spend a very pleasant afternoon cuddling with the little furballs while Nepeta curls up against your side, holding your hand. She giggles when you make her promise not to bring Equius.

 

You’re a lot less nervous for the date then you were for Prom, which you’re fine with. It’s just dinner and a movie, and you’ve already seen this particular romcom about eight times, so you know all the right moments to maybe slide your arm around her shoulders and when to murmur some of the more romantic lines in her ear. It’s gonna be sweet.

 

Dinner winds up being a disaster; that’s what happens when you don’t realize your shirt sleeve is on fire from reaching across the table to grab her hand when there’s a candle in the way. You’re not horribly burned and if you roll up your sleeves no one’ll even notice the scorch marks, but the knocked-over table is a little harder to cover up. You grind your teeth so hard you’re pretty sure you chip something, but Nepeta just takes your hand and leads you a few doors down to a pizza joint, and, yeah, you can handle pizza.

 

The movie goes perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that you don’t even notice that the movie’s over until the usher loudly tells you and Nepeta to get a pail (which of course makes you turn beet-red. Stupid humans, no sense of decency whatsoever). Yeah, you totally made out in a movie theater with the girl of your dreams. You are feeling incredibly proud of yourself for that one, but you know it was all her idea.

 

You walk down the sidewalk hand-in-hand, giggling and nudging each other, when you approach an alleyway and hear a peculiar series of sounds—someone choking, and a low throaty _honk_.

 

You stop short, looking at Nepeta, who chews her lip. Carefully you tiptoe around the corner, and Nepeta understands what’s going on a lot faster than you do, because she lets go of your hand and launches herself into the scene before you can even process what you’re looking at.

 

The first thing that makes it through is that Equius is on his knees, blue in the face, practically grinning, clutching the bony hands around his throat but making no move to stop them. The second is that those bony hands are connected to skinny arms and a thin torso and a head of wild curly hair obscuring most of a dirty face except for a wide painted smile…

 

Nepeta claws Gamzee right across the face, yowling. He lets go of Equius, who slumps to the side, gasping for breath, and instead grabs Nepeta, throwing her hard against the wall. She bounces, falling on top of her moirail with a yelp, leaving a smear of green against the wall. Then Gamzee looks right at you, standing uselessly at the end of the alley with your mouth wide open, and you close your mouth with a snap. His eyes are bright red and feverish, purple-mottled pupils pinpricks and breath coming in snarls and growls.

 

You have never been more scared in your life, but as you quickly realize, it’s not for yourself. It’s not even for the feebly-stirring trolls on the ground.

 

He rushes you, and you close your eyes, raise your hand, and pap him on the cheek as his claws sink into your shoulders.

 

He pauses.

 

You run your hands over his cheeks and make a soothing _shoosh_ at him, wincing against the claws drawing blood but not taking your hands off him for a second. You touch his face, pap his chest, touch and soothe until his forehead is pressed against yours and his claws unsheathe themselves from your arm meat. He’s making broken little whimpers, fragments of honks and his cult nonsense, getting greasepaint on your forehead and you’re not sure when it happened but your blood-pusher twists inside your chest, hard.

 

“What happened?” you say softly, keeping your eyes shut as his too-big hands flutter a little, trying to find a place to settle. “Why didn’t you call me if you were having trouble, idiot?”

 

He doesn’t answer you, but when you open your eyes his are a dull orange, pupils normal-sized and welling with indigo tears. He doesn’t attempt to stop them, but he looks at you, and you are overcome with another wave of an almost-nameless pale emotion.

 

“Stay put,” you instruct. “I need to make sure Nepeta and Equius are alright.”

 

He nods wearily and shuffles to lean against the wall. You pap him one more time on his cheek and scramble to help Nepeta up. The back of her head is bleeding a lukewarm olive, and she keeps making little mewing noises of discomfort.

 

“Are you okay?” you ask. She paws blindly for Equius, who you see is breathing harshly and massaging the blooming bruises around his neck. For good measure you haul that sweaty weirdo up, too. Nepeta instantly attaches herself to his side, and Equius looks at you with disoriented blue eyes.

 

“Your interference was unnecessary,” he says, voice haughty and hoarse. “It was—”

 

“It was completely necessary and you know it,” you snarl. “Stay put. I’m gonna try to call an ambulance.”

 

He protests, but you walk around the corner to a bar, argue for five minutes with the bouncer about using their phone, and in another two are back to check and make sure Gamzee hasn’t run off and the other two are still breathing. Nepeta holds your hand tightly as you brush her hair back from her face.

 

“On its way,” you say gently.

 

“Did—did you call the cops, too?”

 

“No. Why would I—?”

 

She glares at you. It’s impressive how intimidating she can look when her pupils are all small like that.

 

“He tried to kill my meowrail, and me.”

 

“Yeah, well, now he’s not,” you say, voice a little harsh, because now you have an idea what’ll happen if Gamzee is away from you for too long. “I’m keeping an eye on him.”

 

Her face softens, just a little. “Karkat, I know you mean well, but—”

 

“But nothing,” you say. “I’m looking after him. He’s not gonna do this again. I’m going to make _sure_.”

 

You stand up as she goes to say something else, walking towards Gamzee, who is shaking and digging his nails into his arms.

 

“Hey,” you say, “stop that.” You gently pry his fingers out of himself and _oof_ when he buries you in a mass of limbs and hair. “It’s okay.”

 

It takes a while for the ambulance to arrive, and as they load Equius in Nepeta looks at you, a strange and hopeful gleam in her eyes, but as Gamzee starts honking again at the flashing lights and you turn to soothe him, you almost catch a glimpse of her slump. She’s not there when you turn back, and she returns the flowers you leave on her front door later without a note or a word.

 

Word travels fast in a high school. A lot of humans and lowbloods glare at you and Gamzee both when you walk down the hall, his bony arm around your shoulders, and you know they’re all thinking the same thing as Nepeta. You grit your teeth and wait out for the end of the school year.

 

Nepeta hugs you at graduation and tells you goodbye when she leaves the afterparty, but that’s it. You take the bruised corners of your heart and tuck it away. Gamzee knows better than to try and tell you she wasn’t worth it or something stupid like that. It’s kind of his fault anyway. But you can’t pin it all on him. You’re the one who chose him over her.

 

You never can watch that romcom again without heaving a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's this world's version of the Sober Gamzee Incident. (Between y'all and me, I prefer this version. No one dies. Except for Karkat and Nepeta's relationship, but, well, them's the breaks, I guess.)


	5. Jade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's off-schedule, but it's my birthday today and I thought, what the hay, post one of my favorite chapters as a gift to all y'all. XD Enjoy your days, my lovelies, and enjoy this chapter!

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are ten sweeps old (or about twenty-two, your records say).

 

Your uniform still feels too stiff for your comfort and the guys at the station thought it was _real_ funny to give the newmeat the crappiest cruiser you’ve ever had the misfortune to drive. You thought it was too good to be true when they just gave it to you. You should’ve known. Your life never works out this good. From the clunks and growls and screeches, you think it’s more than just the brakes and the spark plugs. However, you’re on a piss-poor salary and living in an apartment with a bunch of your favorite rejects, so you just coax it along with blistering invective and lots of dash-smacking and wheel-caressing. Another block, and you’ll be done with your patrol.

 

And it just figures that the last block is the one that looks like trouble. You see a human girl, probably not even old enough to drive yet, fiddling with something that looks like lab equipment in the middle of the little park. You swear and pull over. She doesn’t even look up when you flick the lights on, just to see if you’d get a reaction. Nope.

 

You get out of the car and approach her while she busily stirs chemicals and checks burners. You clear your throat.

 

“What’re you doing?”

 

She looks up at you then, and grins, and she’s got the most unfortunate buckteeth you’ve ever seen on a human underneath neon braces and a plethora of multicolored bands. Her hoodie has dog ears on the hood. She looks completely unafraid of you.

 

“Evening, officer!” she chirps. “Lovely weather we’re having today, huh?”

 

“Uh…sure,” you grunt. “What’re you doing here, miss?”

 

“Jade,” she corrects. Like you give a crap! “I’m conducting an experiment. Wasn’t it obvious?”

 

“Miss, the park is closed after dark,” you frown. “And whatever you’re cooking up doesn’t look safe.”

 

“Jade,” she repeats. “And the park technically doesn’t close until an hour after sunset. It’s only been forty-five minutes. And what I’m doing, Officer Vantas, is top-secret for another…oh…ten?”

 

You crinkle your nose. You could force her out, but you don’t have the energy to throw your weight around, after being literally thrown around earlier today by a massive carapace with a knowledge of exactly how to break a young troll in thirty different ways. So you just kind of stand there, and watch.

 

Jade peeks up at you beneath her bangs now and then, grinning, and you glare at her until she returns to her chemicals, which are starting to glow.

 

“So, Officer Vantas, what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

 

“Patrol,” you grunt. “What’s a kid like you doing out on a school night?”

 

“Project,” she returns. “And it’s not a school night, I don’t have class tomorrow.”

 

You do a quick recount of the days. “It’s Tuesday night.”

 

“Yup,” she replies. “And I have class on Tuesdays and Thursdays only.”

 

“You’re in college?” you ask. She doesn’t look college-age. No kid with braces like that should be in college.

 

“Part-time,” she nods. “Mondays and Fridays I’m finishing my high school diploma. They wouldn’t let me do summer school or skip any more grades until I pull my English up. It’s lame, but what’re you gonna do?”

 

You clean out your ears. Is she seriously smart enough to be in college when she’s…how old is she? You vocalize the question. She winks at you.

 

“That’s an awkward thing to ask a minor.”

 

You flush. “I didn’t mean it like that, you little creep!”

 

“If anyone’s a creep here, Officer, I think it’s you,” she says brightly. “But to answer your question, I’m sixteen, turning seventeen in December.” You do the quick math. She’s about…seven sweeps?

 

“And you’re doing college credit?” you ask, just to make sure you heard right. You’ve heard of genius kids, but you didn’t think any were hanging around the dirtpile that is Altville. She nods, the dog ears on her hood flopping. “Uh…good job, I guess.”

 

“Thanks,” she grins. “What about you, Officer, how old are you?”

 

“I’m ten,” you tell her.

 

“So you skipped the whole college thing?” she asks, stirring something quite frantically until it changes colors and glows brighter. You shrug.

 

“Didn’t seem like a good option,” you grumble. “Wanted to go into the police force.”

 

“And you made it!” she cheers, giggling as your mouth twists. “I’m a scientist myself. Well, duh, note the science equipment!” She spreads her arms over her experiment. “Speaking of which, Officer, you might want to take a few steps back.”

 

You open your mouth to question her, but then the whole experiment explodes in front of her.

 

It’s like liquid fireworks. You watch in complete awe as jets of glowing liquid shoot several feet into the air with fantastic pops, then fizzle into gas. It all smells faintly of Froot Loops. Jade, who has somehow scurried around and plopped down next to you, cackles and claps her hands while you swear.

 

The show is over within a few minutes, leaving slightly smoking beakers and a wheezing Bunsen burner.

 

“Did you see that!” Jade cheers. “It flew up so high! I wasn’t sure if the dissipation rate would be quick enough before it rained down, but it _was!_ ”

 

You attempt to act like you did not almost pee your pants and make it to your feet, brushing off your trousers.

 

“Miss,” you say severely, “I could arrest you for disturbing the peace.”

 

“No, you couldn’t,” she replies, gathering up her equipment into an ancient medical satchel. “You’d have to wait for someone to lodge a complaint first, and since the experiment is already completed and a wild success, no harm done.” She snaps it shut and stands, dusting off her striped leggings. All told, she looks just like a little witch missing her hat. You frown at her.

 

“Well, Officer Vantas, this has been fun, but I have to go now!” she says cheerfully. “I have to record my results before the memory wears off!”

 

And, before you can open your mouth, she pops out of existence. You scrub your eyes and check your immediate area. No…she’s gone. Just like that. You walk back to the cruiser and wonder if you didn’t just imagine her. The lingering smell of fruity smoke tells you otherwise, but you’re good at ignoring evidence. A bitter smile tugs at your lips and you slam the door shut harder than you intended.

 

When you get home, Sollux is perched at his computer as usual; you’re pretty sure he hasn’t moved in the last three days. He’s starting to reek. On the couch is Gamzee, idly flipping channels and gnawing on what looks suspiciously like one of your movie cases. You slap it out of his mouth and scoop it up. Yes, and it’s one of your favorites, too. You smack the top of his head for good measure, and he reaches up to grab your wrist.

 

“What’s new, my miracle brother?” he drawls. “I all up and missed you today.”

 

“Nothing, you clingy jerkface,” you snip. “Stop chewing on my stuff. You’re not a squeakbeast.”

 

He just grins, face suspiciously like he’s high but a closer inspection of his pupils and a sniff at his breath tell you he’s still sober. He paps your cheek and you touch foreheads before pulling back to get into your pajamas.

 

“Eridan home?” you ask. A muffled sob emits from the closed ablution block door. “Is Eridan dying?”

 

A retching sound, and unpleasant spattering. You roll your eyes. So he’s drinking himself into a coma again. When you change out, you rap hard on the door and wait for it to open by replacing Sollux’s energy drink with a water bottle. The door opens, and you arm yourself with a second water bottle and a bottle of aspirin. Eridan is half-dressed, his eyes are bloodshot, and his hair is coming undone from its careful coiffure, hanging in greasy hanks in his face. You flush the vomit, grab Eridan by the collar, and drag his head under the ablution trap spray. He coughs and splutters, but when you pull him back out and towel off his head he looks a little better. You shove the water and pills at him and wait until he swallows two before taking the pills and returning them to the kitchen. You thump Sollux in the back of the head.

 

“Ow! What?”

 

“You’re starting to grow things in your armpits,” you tell him. “Find a good stopping point and take a shower. Have you even eaten today?”

 

He grumbles and lisps.

 

“I will unplug the computer if you don’t take care of it yourself,” you say. “Don’t think I won’t. Remember last time you decided to park on here and play World of Warcraft?”

 

Sollux blanches a little, scowls, and flips you off, but after a few more taps and a click he pushes away from the computer and walks to the ablution block. He and Eridan get in a small screaming match before you get in there and drag Eridan out. While Sollux showers you wrestle Eridan out of his stupid pretentious clothes and into his recouperacoon, and threaten him with dismemberment if he doesn’t go to sleep. You look in the fridge and warm up some cold pizza, sliding a couple slices onto a plate and placing them beside Sollux’s keyboard for when he comes out. You shove another plate of pizza into Gamzee’s lap and take up residence at the other end of the couch, maneuvering his feet out of the way. His toenails need to be trimmed.

 

Gamzee watches you while you wolf down your slice, a slow smile spreading over his face.

 

“You take such good care of us, bro,” he says softly. You shrug.

 

“Someone’s gotta make sure you idiots don’t die of various stupidity-induced accidents,” you say. “Since you all seem so incapable of taking care of yourselves.” You say that last part loudly at Sollux, who is scrubbing at his hair with a towel. He flips you off again.

 

Later, as you slide into your slime and try to orient yourself around a space-hogging bunch of elbows and knees called Gamzee Makara, you finally remember Jade and make a note to ask Eridan if he’d seen her before. Kid like her, she’s bound to be getting some attention for that brain of hers.

 

Tonight seems like a cuddle night; Gamzee wraps himself around you as soon as you’re settled, honking contentedly in your ear and rubbing your back. You relax, bit by bit. He hasn’t had an episode in almost a sweep. It’s not that you’re scared for yourself; you’re more worried about Sollux and Eridan. Not like they do excellent jobs of looking after themselves anyway. You’re pretty positive if you weren’t here they’d either have murdered each other already or be hatepailing each other on every available surface. It gets especially taxing whenever Sollux, like an idiot, brings his matesprit by. But you’ve learned to live with it. Feferi isn’t a direct offense against your blood pressure and Sollux has learned to call ahead to make sure Eridan’s at school or work first. So long as everyone communicates….

 

You sigh and try to clear your head. You don’t need to be worrying about them when they’re not even doing anything right now.

 

And yet, and yet, you grimace as your brain continues on its track. Your guardian must’ve rubbed off on you.

 

It doesn’t hurt to think about her now, any more than it hurts to look at Kanaya like it used to. You made your peace with her sudden death a long time ago. Car accidents couldn’t be hunted or avenged, just regretted. You only wish you’d answered your stupid phone when she called you—out of all her children, her friends, the last one she’d wanted to talk to was a nookstain of a son who didn’t deserve her love or attention. Of all your stupid decisions, of which there are assuredly many, that one tops the list.

 

But you’re beating yourself up again, and you promised Gamzee you’d try to cut back on that. You nestle a little deeper into his arms and finally drift off.

 

It’s life as normal until Thursday night, when you come home and find a teenage human sitting in your living room, knees drawn up and chatting amicably with Eridan over an explosion of textbooks and study notes. You slam your door, and Jade blinks at you. For once, she looks surprised.

 

“Oh! I didn’t know you lived here!” she says. “Eridan said he lived with a Karkat who was a police officer, but I didn’t make the connection!”

 

You look at Eridan, who blinks at you innocently.

 

“You realize she’s sixteen, right?” you tell Eridan pointedly. He flushes purple and grimaces.

 

“I’m aware a that, Kar,” he says sourly. “You’re gross.”

 

“That’s what I told him,” Jade chirps, returning to her study guide. “You’ve gotta work on your pedophilic tendencies, Officer.”

 

“I don’t have—whatever,” you throw your hands up. “Whatever, whatever. Serves me right for worrying about a little girl in an apartment full of older men. Whatever.”

 

“I don’t think I’d count a bunch of twentysomething manchildren as anything to worry about, Karkat,” she says, and you bristle. You’re not _Karkat_ to her. You’re _Officer Vantas_. “Besides, I can just blip out if things get too hot and heavy.”

 

You mouth at her, flush, and stomp to your room to change. Gamzee isn’t there, which is a little worrisome, but if he’s in trouble, he’ll call. Sollux is probably out with Feferi. Normally leaving anyone with a pulse alone with Eridan is a bad idea, but you grudgingly trust his skewed morals and reason that, yeah, Jade can take care of herself in a pinch. That doesn’t stop you from dragging your husktop into the nutrition block and setting up shop at the table, shooting suspicious daggers at the pair of them on the couch. They seem to be talking about chemistry. Not one of your best subjects; to your eternal chagrin, Literature was more your style. You even thought about majoring in it, before you ultimately decided to go with your gut and join the force. Not like you’re missing out on any quality college experiences, living with the same douches you’ve known your whole life and cleaning up their messes. Plenty of experience wiping up vomit and escorting hung-over hookers out, yup, that’s you.

 

Something pegs you in the head, and you growl at the paper ball as it bounces away. You glare at the couch, but neither Eridan nor Jade look at you, so you sniff and hunker back onto your computer.

 

Another paper ball. You screech a warning and let it go.

 

By the fifth paper ball you grab a spatula, walk over to the couch, and knock Eridan hard between the horns. He whines and grabs his head.

 

“Kar, that hurts!”

 

“Stop throwing garbage at me,” you hiss. Jade giggles. You level the spatula at her, too.

 

“Don’t think that just because you’re a twitty kid I can’t figure out ways to get back at you. I will lodge a complaint myself and arrest you on that next time you’re in parks blowing crap up. I will randomly drug search your family vehicle. I will write so many parking tickets you won’t know your left from your right. I will stop traffic to let a family of baby geese walk by just as you’re attempting to rush through an intersection to your grandma’s funeral! I will be your doom and your tormentor if you don’t _quit it!_ ”

 

“One flaw in your master plan, Officer,” Jade says sweetly. “I can teleport. I don’t need a car.”

 

You growl wordlessly and stalk back to your husktop.

 

You’re holding onto the last vestiges of your sanity when Sollux finally walks through the door, pulling—yeah, he’s got Feferi with him. Your frayed nerves twinge. Eridan closes his mouth mid-laugh at something dumb Jade had said, and the temperature in the apartment seems to drop.

 

“Oh,” Feferi says, pulling up short and pulling her hand out of Sollux’s as he keeps walking. “Hi.”

 

“Hey,” Eridan grinds out. Sollux pauses by the hall.

 

“Who’re you?” he asks Jade.

 

“Jade Harley,” she grins. “I’m a classmate of Eridan’s.”

 

“Harley?” Sollux blinks. “Ath in Harley Induthtrieth?”

 

“That’s the one!” she giggles. “The old family business!”

 

Your blood-pusher tumbles somewhere into your shoes. No wonder she’s so smart. She grew up surrounded by geniuses. Sollux flicks his gaze between her and Eridan, then shrugs.

 

“Cool.”

 

The atmosphere in the living room is still practically solid with tension as Eridan and Feferi don’t look at each other, but Feferi starts up a conversation with Jade about something inane, so it’s not totally uncomfortable. You keep an eye on Eridan. He’s been known to be volatile about the two of them, and you don’t trust the presence of a guest to hold him in check. Sollux is taking a stupidly long time, too. You don’t know how much longer you can take it.

 

He comes out with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder and retakes Feferi’s hand, waving a general goodbye to the apartment as he pulls her out. There’s a hot, tense moment where he and Eridan look at each other just before Sollux closes the door, and you rub your eyes. You can’t deal with them right now. Which is why it’s a good thing nothing happens, because if they’d gotten into a screaming match with Jade right there, you would probably die of embarrassment. It’s bad enough she’s taken to calling your apartment the Manchild Cave. She glances at you while Eridan stews at the closed door, and you shrug and flick your head.

 

“I think it’s about time I headed out,” Jade says, snapping her textbook close. “Get a good night’s sleep before the exam.”

 

“Alright” Eridan says, shaking his head and helping her gather her junk. “Take care a yourself going home.”

 

“Not a problem,” Jade giggles, and she trots around the couch with her hand extended. “It was good to see you again, Officer!”

 

“Yeah,” you grunt, shaking her hand. “Stay out of trouble, or I’ll know about it.”

 

She giggles again, and in a flash of green is gone. Eridan coughs on the slight ozone smell she leaves behind.

 

“Some kid,” you say. “Why was she here, again?”

 

“Helpin’ me study,” Eridan shrugs. “She’s a whiz kid, really knows her stuff. I need all the help I can get on this next exam.”

 

“And you don’t see anything wrong with the fact that you invited a _minor_ to study at your apartment, rather than someplace public where someone can keep an eye on you?” You feel the beginnings of a master tongue-lashing coming on. It’s been brewing all evening.

 

“Wasn’t unsupervised for long,” he mumbles. “You came by, didn’t you?”

 

“Because I’m such a model citizen!” you snap. “It’s completely inappropriate, what you just did! Next time you wanna study, take the kid for a burger and a shake, someplace with free wifi and a host of middle-aged shopaholics to judge you silently in the corner and make sure you don’t do anything stupid!”

 

“Well, you make sure none of us here do anything stupid, and you’re a cop, so I didn’t see anything wrong with it,” Eridan shrugs. “Unofficial and unromantic auspistice that you are, I figured once you got home you’d freak out and play babysitter.”

 

You scrub at your face. He did _not_ just go there. No way in any theological place of burning torment would you be in a quadrant with either Eridan or Sollux, unofficial or otherwise. They’ve been your bros forever, and you love ‘em in the human sense that you think of them as family, but they are both more trouble than they’re worth. And together in the same quadrant? Gog help that poor sap, because it sure isn’t you. You’re just the den mother, and you are not afraid to admit that.

 

However, you are too tired to dispute the fact. Perpetual glaring at a blank screen and keeping an ear out for anything untoward is a taxing job, particularly when you’re trying to supervise Eridan Ampora and a sixteen-year-old girl who seems to enjoy teasing you. You have the unpleasant feeling that you’re going to be seeing her again.

 

You wait until Eridan goes to bed, then text both Sollux and Gamzee to ask if they plan on coming home anytime soon. It’s weird, this texting phenomenon, but none of your roommates apparently like using their phones like phones anymore, so you go with what works. It takes forever to tap it out on your keypad. One day, you swear, they are going to invent a phone with an actual keyboard and you will rejoice.

 

Sollux replies that he’s staying at Feferi’s. Gamzee you don’t hear from, but you leave the door unlocked and sleep on the couch. You didn’t mean to, it just happened while you were staring intently at your phone and wondering how much it would hurt it to chuck it across the room and stomp on it a few times.

 

He shuts the door quietly behind him, but it’s when he presses his lips to your forehead that you really start awake, automatically reaching for him. Then you pause when he hisses slightly and you feel something ragged under your fingertips.

 

As your eyes adjust, you see that he has scratch marks and bite marks all over him, from his jaw to his mouth to his neck and probably in places you don’t want to think about. He’s carrying himself gingerly, but he looks oddly satisfied. You grimace. He’s been doing this every couple of weeks, going out and coming home beaten up. You know the signs of a kismesissitude as well as any other troll, maybe more, with your extensive and lifelong research, but he always tries to pawn it off on “I all up and tripped, wouldn’t you know it bro” or “Got into a little tussle, nothing to worry your cute little nubs about.” Which means it’s someone you know. Someone Gamzee thinks you wouldn’t approve of.

 

Your mind goes to Kanaya for a moment before the sheer gross factor makes you want to tear out your aural clots and stuff them down your throat to choke yourself with, then floss between your ears with your own guts for good measure. It’s none of the guys here in your apartment, and your mutual acquaintance is small enough that you’re stumped in a matter of seconds. It’s irritating, that he won’t tell you, but he’ll still come to you looking for soothing with his eyes bright as anything. You sigh, run your fingertips gently over the claw marks on his cheek again, and haul yourself up to fish out the first aid kit from the ablution block.

 

He looks utterly woebegone in the harsh yellow light. His eyes are bloodshot, but not in a murderous way, and against the orange of his eyeballs his indigo irises stand out. You bunch his mass of hair back away from his face and get to work cleaning him up, coaxing his shirt off to assess the damage. Lots of claw marks, specifically focused on his back and sides, which gives you mental pictures you don’t want to think about, and bite marks on his shoulders. When you ask him about any other areas after sponging him down, he drops trou and displays his thighs, also raked thoroughly. It’s the worst you’ve ever seen him and makes you hurt to your core. You know blackroms are rough, but this seems excessive, even to you. Thankfully, most of the scratches seem to be already scabbing over, so just a few butterfly bandages on his face and a thorough cleaning and disinfecting and he’ll be fine. The sooner he gets in the sopor, the better.

 

He wants to be big spoon this time around, so you let him. As you’re drifting off, you feel rather than hear him murmur apologies into your spine knobs. You don’t know what he’s apologizing for or why, but something in the desperation in his voice makes you uneasy.

 

You ponder on it later on the next day while you’re finishing the last of a greasy burrito (curse humans and their delicious cuisine), and you almost miss the radio when it explodes with a report of a homicide not two streets over from your location. You roger in as the first responding officer and drive over with a heavy heart. It’ll be your first homicide, and you’re not looking forward to it.

 

It’s a nice neighborhood, a quaint little two-story house with a tire swing and everything. Your blood-pusher drops into your gut, because sitting on the front porch is an obvious brother and sister duo with dark hair and blue eyes. The boy looks Jade’s age, the girl a little older. They’re both crying. The girl has her arm around her brother and is looking straight at you.

 

You swallow, put on your big troll pants, and climb out of the cruiser.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it was that Officer Vantas and Miss Harley began their sassmaster BFFship...and Karkat's career takes an unexpected turn. (Ahahahaaaaaa how many of you are feeling the hurt yet)


	6. Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had a VERY good day, so here, have another chapter! There will be ten total, I believe, and I am waiting to write the last one until Life with Dirk is done. Speaking of which, there are 71 pages of it and we are right at the final conflict, so it should be up very, very soon!
> 
> Once again, if you didn't see, Splickedylit and Toastyhat on Tumblr made covers for all of my Sherlockbound projects! AAAAH!

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are eleven sweeps (or twenty-four; you are hanging out too much with humans).

 

You’re currently trying to deal with the swirling vortex of emotions that is your thinkpan without vomiting.

 

Terezi Pyrope is still as pretty as you remember. Even prettier, now that her figure’s filled out a little, more hippy and fuller-breasted. You would appreciate more if she wasn’t straddling your moirail on your couch with a look like a consulting detective with her hand in the evidence box. Gamzee rolls his head back and grins, but it’s not the slow sweet grin you know and love. It’s hard and syrupy, more like a smirk. Neither one of them are naked, but they might as well be. The source of the scratches and bites over the last couple years finally becomes clear. You swallow hard, turn on your heel, and slam the door behind you.

 

Your head is spinning and you want something to drink. Where you end up is a crazy little cottage with overgrown plants and pumpkins all over the place. You’re not going to get anything harder than maybe Sprite here, unless she’s gone grocery shopping. But it’s where you feel like being.

 

You barge in because that’s how you and Jade roll now and help yourself to her kitchen. She raises her eyebrows at you from her position on the couch, which happens to be situated firmly in the lap of her boyfriend while they play a video game.

 

“Hi, Karkat,” she says, her voice cautious.

 

“Way to knock, dude,” Dave adds in. You snap off a growl and decide her two-liter of Dr. Pepper is good enough. “We coulda been doing the nasty on the couch for all you knew.”

 

“That’d make two pailings I’d walk in on today, and believe me, as repulsive as your human mating rituals are, walking in on you two would be much more preferable to who I just ran into,” you grumble. Jade extricates herself from Dave, who pauses the game and kneels on the couch, resting his arms on the back.

 

“Who was the first?” she asks. You wait until a good chunk of the bottle is down your protein chute before answering.

 

“Gamzee,” you grunt, “and…Terezi.”

 

Jade makes a small _oh_ while Dave…doesn’t do much with his face, actually, but his confusion is palpable.

 

“Who and what, now?”

 

“His moirail and his flushcrush from middle school,” Jade clarifies. “I didn’t even know she was back!”

 

“Neither did I,” you grunt. “First time I’ve seen her since we were six and she’s…she’s…” You swallow. No. You’re not going to cry. Crying is for stupid dumb…things. You’re a grown troll.

 

Jade touches your arm and you’re thankful you don’t have to say it out loud.

 

“I guess she’s his mystery kismesis, huh?” Jade says thoughtfully. You jerk your head in a nod. You’re not sure why you’re shaken up so badly. Yeah, maybe you kind of wanted her in that quadrant too once upon a time, but you were always probably more flushed for her than pitch. You think. It’s been such a long time. If you met up with her again, you were hoping it would be like…well, like the movies. You wanted to chance on her in a coffee shop or run into her randomly on the street. Maybe, if you were lucky, you wanted to save her from some guy trying to steal her purse, even though you know that even at six she was a hardened fighter and would never let any punk get away with her personal belongings if she didn’t want them to. Something indicative of the feelings you used to have. Not this. Not walking in on her and your growing-distant moirail.

 

And that _look_ he gave you. That might be the worst part, because he’s never looked at you quite so callously. Sure, he hasn’t been the most warm and fuzzy of trolls to be around lately, but…you don’t know what hurts worse right now because you feel like a huge emotional bruise.

 

You tip your head forward until it’s resting on your arms and let loose a mumbling stream of profanity at the countertop. Jade’s small soft hands keep up an even tempo in rubbing your back. You used to feel scandalized at the gesture, it being too pale for you when you already had a moirail, but you’ve since learned that that’s just how Jade is. She doesn’t mean anything by it other than friendship and solidarity. You groan into your arms and wonder when an eighteen-year-old human became someone you could call your friend without being sarcastic.

 

Probably around the same time Eridan and Sollux moved out and Gamzee started getting distant. Probably around the time Jane Crocker and her derp of a brother started becoming fixtures in your life. Probably sometime around then. Maybe.

 

Jade and Dave are kind and let you stay the night, because if you have to go back to your apartment now you’re going to break something and it might be yourself. You comment loudly about Dave’s lack of joystick precision and he turns it into a sexual innuendo you don’t quite understand but makes Jade laugh, and it goes back and forth like that for quite some time until Jade nods off on his shoulder and you nod off on your arm. Which was sort of a mistake, because you had your phone in your hand to check the time or your messages or something and when it goes off at six in the morning with an ear-blistering bubblegum pop song Gamzee programmed into your phone for his ringtone, it’s a very rude awakening.

 

Because your brain hasn’t caught up, you answer it.

 

“What.”

 

“Just checkin’ on you, bro,” Gamzee says. His voice is flat. “Wanted to get my sorry on for last night.”

 

You hang up, because you are not having this conversation right now. But if you hurry, you could probably go home, grab a shower, change, and explode at Gamzee before you go into work.

 

It’s not so much an explosion as a quiet realization that, when you open the door, he isn’t there anymore.

 

His side of the clothing block is cleaned out. Your backpack is missing. His toothbrush is gone. It hits you slowly, then all at once, and when you find the sticky note taped to the microwave that just says “sOrRy” in his stupid kindergartner handwriting you fall apart.

 

You call in sick. Your voice is hoarse and scratchy and if they want proof you did, in fact, throw up a little. You curl up in a ball in the floor of the shower and just…cry. You don’t care about being manly or dignified or whatever. You’re hurt. You’re alone. You need to do something less destructive than taking a sharp object to your hornbeds. Crying until the water runs ice-cold seems about the way to do it.

 

You wrap yourself in every blanket you own and squat on the couch, watching all of your favorite troll romcoms, then all your favorite human ones, and so on. It’s the weekend now so they can’t do anything to stop you. When your head feels like it’s about to explode you take a nap that lasts about six hours and drag yourself out to start working on your romance novels.

 

You go to work, because you want to keep your job and you’re not stupid, but your evenings are spent in lounging in dirty sweatpants and watching reruns of old sitcoms. You’re taking the breakup badly and you know it, even though you’ve seen it coming for a while now. You just…kind of figured it’d be a thing that would last, y’know? You know Gamzee was crushing hard pale on you long before his sober freakout, and if you were honest you kind of felt that way about him since you understood the words “sopor addiction” strung together. That’s a stupidly long time.

 

And Terezi…you can’t think about Terezi. Just your luck that you find out you still feel just as strongly about her in the worst possible way. You are probably the most pathetic bulgesneeze you know, and that’s including Sollux in the dip of his mood swings. You don’t clean the apartment and you barely clean yourself and a part of you is peevishly proud of the reek. You’ve never had the opportunity to just let go like this. You find that as repugnant as you smell, look, and are, you don’t mind so much. Not like you’re trying to impress anyone.

 

It’s been three weeks when your door is forced open by a quartet of idiot humans barely out of high school and your arms are seized. You groan.

 

“Up and at ‘em, Vantas, we’re going out,” Dave says.

 

“Karkat, it smells awful in here! What’ve you been doing?” Jade cries.

 

“No use struggling, Karkat, we’re gonna go have fun!” John chirps.

 

“Officer Vantas, is it wise to leave your firearm out, unattended, and in the cocked position?” Rose wonders. You wriggle and writhe, but you’re not really fighting as you’re dragged off the couch and dumped in the ablution block to clean yourself up.

 

You consider making a break for it. They’re four puny humans. What’s the worst they could do?

 

There’s a loud pop and a fizzle of ozone, and you remember the freakshow who can teleport and probably has just dematerialized all of your stuff to Timbuktu or someplace equally remote and idiotic.

 

This is going to be a long night.

 

Your first clue, after the sudden appearance of the soft dorky humans who you guess are sort of your friends now (how did your life get to this point), is when you all pile into John’s crappy Thunderbird and Jade tosses you a Sprite. Innocuous enough for soda, but if you drink too much of this stuff (or any of the harder, caffeinated stuff), they’ll have a very tipsy troll on their hands and you are suspicious of their intentions.

 

“Drink up!” Jade says innocently. You stare at the bottle.

 

“Is this some plot to get me fizzed, make me black out, and leave you four free to loot my wallet and steal my valuables?” you ask. “I’ll have you know I have a license to kill.”

 

“No, we’re just trying to get you to relax,” Jade says soothingly. “A little won’t kill you, and you’re a lot more fun to be around when you’re not spewing venom at everything. Okay?”

 

You glare at her, and she glares back, and you take her point and chug the whole thing.

 

Your head is buzzing pleasantly but not distractingly when the car finally stops and you’re hustled out. It appears they have kidnapped you and dragged you to some kind of college party. It’s outdoors, there is a huge stage upon which some eyeliner-wearing sap is whining his guts out into the mike, and you are sure you can see at least six misdemeanors and possibly one felony under way in the crowd. You do not care, because you have been passed either a beer or a Coca-Cola and either way things are _great_.

 

“Told you it was a good idea to bring him,” you hear John say, and it’s as though it is passing through a tunnel, because you’re busy singing along with the band even though you have no idea what the words are and people around you are jostling you much too closely for your regular comfort. You are at peace with the world. Who cares if your moirail left you after you caught him banging your middle school sweetheart? All in the past and wow, this drink is good, do they have any more?

 

You are hot (literally and physically and figgerative—figure—fig—oh who cares) and the music is jammin’. You have never said “jammin’” in your life, but that’s how you feel, so you roll with it. There are humans and trolls and carapaces all around and they are all hot. Rose is hot. John is hot. Jade is hot. Dave is hot. Dave is very hot. Dave is in your bubble. Maybe you’re in Dave’s bubble. You hate this kid. A lot. With his. Stupid shades. And.

 

“I hate you,” you say, and he grins at you. “I hate you so much.”

 

You take another swig of whatever is in your hand, and from then on out the night gets really…fizzy. Fuzzy. Wuzzy. Woozy.

 

So much so that when you wake up the next morning, passed out in the back of John’s car with your shirt on backwards, Dave’s shades on your face, you are hard-pressed to say what you did. You hope it wasn’t anything too embarrassing. Though judging by the lapful of Strider you’re waking up to, that might be a fleeting hope at best.

 

Jade is conked out on the floor of the car, John and Rose leaning on each other and fast asleep. Rose is snoring. You would giggle if your head didn’t feel like it was full of badgers.

 

Dave is drooling on your chest.

 

This is uncomfortable in many ways. For starters, he’s Jade’s boyfriend, and if you two did anything last night it’s with the knowledge that you were drunk and he maybe was not, so it was probably intentional. For another, wet shirt is not something you like waking up to anyway. And thirdly, _oh gog you hope nothing happened you swear on the Mother Grub you are never going out with these nookchafes again—_

 

Dave stirs awake as you start trying to shift out from beneath him, and when he blinks his eyes open you notice with a start that they’re about as red as your own. Huh. He stares at you for a few minutes, then his mouth tilts upwards at the corner.

 

“Morning, lover,” he says, and you basically explode. Quietly. Because others are still trying to sleep off whatever happened last night. It involves a lot of confined flailing and a steady whispered stream of vitriol.

 

“Easy there, tiger, I’m joking,” Dave says, yawning and reclaiming his shades. “Man, you were so wasted last night.”

 

“And whose fault was that?” you hiss, then wince. Too loud. “You idiots _know_ trolls and soda don’t mix!”

 

“You needed a night off from yourself, bro,” he shrugs. “You’re welcome.”

 

Alright…maybe that’s true. You still need to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid or break anything past the point of fixing.

 

“Did…anything happen?”

 

“Besides you breaking down and crying your eyes out after we left the concert? Not much,” Dave shakes his head. “Somehow I got elected your cuddlebuddy.”

 

You wince and rub your eyes. “Sorry.”

 

“All good, man,” he shrugs. “What’re bros for if not to hold each other tenderly while one bawls like a baby about his wrecked social life?”

 

You consider punching him. Sudden movements are a bad idea.

 

“So…what, did I just…feelings-vomit all over you?”

 

“Kinda. Got hard to make out after a while, but doing the Dave Strider version of the shooshpap seemed to work,” he shrugs, and you feel all the blood in your body run chilly. You just had a pale one-night stand, probably in front of everybody, with _Strider_ , of all douchebags. You bury your head in your hands (gently) and groan (quietly).

 

“Look, bro, it doesn’t mean anything,” he says, and you resist the urge to kick him. “That’s what friends do. And in our own way, you and me—we’re friends. So. Take it as a token of my friendliness that I am not judging you for anything that happened last night. You’ve had a rough couple of weeks. It happens.”

 

Friends. You roll the word around. Somehow, when you think about it, it feels alright. Friends. Okay.

 

“Also, you might’ve been hitting on me in a caliginous sense for a while, but that’s okay, I don’t judge you for that, either,” Dave says, and you’re pretty sure it’s the high-pitched keening of embarrassment leaking from your windhole that wakes everyone else, and not the loud tearing of flesh as you try to tear your scalp off and hide in your arms.

 

You take Jade aside as you all file up to your apartment, which is starting to feel a little…stale, to you. You might invest in something a little closer to work. Or something bigger. Something different.

 

“Thanks,” you mutter, because if it was anyone’s idea it was hers, to take you out last night. “Even if I did make a huge idiot of myself and basically embarrassed myself and everyone I know.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she says graciously. “I think we all need to cut loose like that, every once in a while.”

 

You file away the nonsense in the appropriate mental file. “Uh…sorry about hitting on your boyfriend, too.”

 

Jade laughs. “Oh, that’s alright! Dave and I broke up last week!”

 

You stare at her for a full ten seconds before gently putting your head down on your arms and not moving for a solid minute.

 

“Stop being so overdramatic, it wasn’t a big deal,” Jade wheedles, poking your shoulder.

 

These humans are going to be the death of you. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they’re actively trying.

 

As they’re leaving, Rose and John still mercifully quiet (and suspiciously hung-over-looking), Dave smacks your posterior and you kick him. All in all it’s very bro-ish of you and you feel proud. Jade leaves last, touching your shoulder.

 

“You can talk to any of us anytime you want to,” she says, voice and face unusually serious. “We’re all your friends. Please don’t wallow in your feelings like that again without trying to call me, okay?”

 

You look at her for a few minutes and nod.

 

“Good,” she smiles. “See you!”

 

You watch them leave and sigh a little to yourself.

 

It’s the memory of Jade’s earnest expression that somehow gets you through without a panic attack when you’re first to respond to a crime scene that has Juggalo written all over it in the victim’s blood. Jade’s expression, and Dave’s voice.

 

You swallow hard and get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand that's why you don't give trolls soda. Caffeine is a heck of a drug.
> 
> (I'm sorry)


	7. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting so very, very close, lovies! Again, I want to finish up this entire Sherlockbound project by the weekend, so keep an eye out and all that! 
> 
> Also, a reminder that the works in Sherlockbound all have covers now thanks to the ever-lovely Splickedy and Toasty, so check out the beginning notes of each fic to see those!

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are eleven sweeps (but somewhere around twenty-five years).

 

Currently, you’re wondering if you should see a doctor about your blood pressure, because you’re pretty sure your pump biscuit shouldn’t be beating so hard for so long. But it can’t be helped; Little Miss I-Can-Do-Everything-Myself Crocker has managed to get herself trapped in a hostage situation while you piss around working crowd control and occasionally holding back her brother.

 

John Egbert is in hysterics, which for him means jabbering non-stop and occasionally trying to leap the barricade, but you’ve learned to keep a hand on his shoulder. Short of leashing him, it’s the best you can do while also keeping an ear on the hostage negotiator and making sure the reporters don’t also break through the barrier. Idiots.

 

From what you can hear through John’s babble, the negotiator is still talking, and Jane’s voice is remarkably calm and smooth as she acts as go-between. Now and then she yelps, which sets your teeth on edge. More than they are usually, anyway. You learned early on that you should not be allowed anywhere near the hostage negotiator’s equipment, as your volatile personality doesn’t work well with other personalities more volatile than yours, but still. If you could, you’d be telling that bulge-licking oozing sore on the face of civilization _exactly_ how things were gonna go.

 

Your grasp of the situation, between dividing your attention in about six different places, is thus: Jane and John were helping Detective Oswald investigate a murder linked to a series of executive safe robberies, and ended up finding the perp right in the act in this very building. Jane did the smart thing and sent John for backup. She then did the stupid thing and got herself and a large number of the staff on that same floor captured. It’s just one guy, how dangerous could he be?

 

You calm that particular angry voice by violent strangulation and repeated beatings with the memories of exactly what one person can do. You’re haunted by bodies ripped asunder and clown faces painted in blood.

 

Cut it out. Focus.

 

“Officer Vantas?” someone from the negotiation trailer calls, and you perk up. So does John. “He’s asking for you.”

 

Awesome.

 

“Stay put, Egbert,” you grunt, but he follows you anyway.

 

“Remember, Officer, stay calm, and don’t agree to anything without checking with me first,” the negotiator whispers, and you take the receiver from her. She’s a troll, green-blooded, and is giving you a very level look. You swallow hard and fit the receiver against your ear.

 

“Officer Vantas speaking.”

 

“Hello, Vantas,” Jane says, and her voice is unnaturally calm.

 

“Jane,” you reply, and John paws at your shoulder. You beat him back. “You okay in there?”

 

“Oh, fine,” she says, and her voice is a touch too cheery. “We’re having a ball up here.”

 

“Good to hear,” you grunt.

 

“Mr. Dreyfuss would like to request a helicopter and a ticket to Cuba,” Jane continues, “or he’s going to shoot everyone in here, starting with me.”

 

“Doesn’t want much, does he?” you frown, and look at the negotiator. She shakes her head. “How soon does he want it?”

 

“Oh, whenever it’s convenient,” Jane says, then grunts. “He says he’ll give you an hour, and then…oh, I’m not telling him that, it’s—” Another grunt. “Fine, have it your way. Half an hour, and then he’s going to paint the walls pink. Inaccurate, you know, brains are actually—”

 

“Jane, stop mouthing off,” you snap as she yelps again. “Okay. Okay. Let me talk to some people and I’ll see what I can do. Don’t hang up.”

 

“Of course,” Jane says, and her voice is gravelly. “Avoid my teeth next time, please, I rather need those.”

 

You look at the negotiator. She’s chewing her lip, listening to someone by her.

 

“SWAT is still sweeping the lower floors, just to be sure,” she finally says to you, “so we need you to stall. It could still take a while.”

 

“I thought the building was cleared, why are they still sweeping?” you gripe.

 

“Keep him talking,” she commands, and you roll your eyes and wonder how you’re going to pull this off, exactly, without pissing him off.

 

“Jane?”

 

“I’m here.”

 

“Why Cuba?”

 

She’s silent for a moment, then says, “It’s nice this time of year.”

 

“Oh.” Brilliant tactics, Vantas, truly inspirational. “How many people are in there?”

 

“Twenty, I believe,” Jane says, “and one woman here is—you know, after a while, the hitting gets redun—well _sorry_ , I’m trying to have a conversation here!”

 

You can’t believe this is your life.

 

“I’ve been advised not to tell you how many hostages there are,” Jane finally says, teeth gritted, “or what kind, or anything that could be construed as useful.”

 

“Well, peachy.”

 

“Is John there?” Her voice finally wobbles a little.

 

“Right here behind me,” you nod. “He’s being a real champ.”

 

She sighs, very quietly. “Good.”

 

There’s a moment of silence.

 

“How’s that copter coming along?”

 

“Still getting the clearance,” you say. “Should be up before time runs out, don’t worry.”

 

“I’m not.” She truly sounds it, too. If there’s any girl you know who isn’t afraid to die, Jane Crocker is that girl. “Mr. Dreyfuss is getting antsy.” You distinctly hear him tell her to shut up in the rudest manner possible and vow that you are going to hit this guy at least once. A good bang in the head with your gun won’t kill him if you don’t pistolwhip it too hard.

 

“They’re in,” the negotiator breathes, and you hear Jane laugh, among the shouts of what undoubtedly is the SWAT team taking Dreyfuss down.

 

“Thank you, Vantas, you are excellent help as always,” she says brightly.

 

“Me? What did I do?”

 

“Mr. Dreyfuss was getting irritated with poor Miss Balkin over there. I nearly got shot, you know.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, running your hand through your hair and grabbing one of your horns. “I might still do you the favor one day.”

 

She laughs, and the phone disconnects. You look at the negotiator, who nods, and at John, who’s vibrating, and sigh.

 

You don’t see Jane until she’s back at the police station giving you the full report, her face a pretty heinous mess of bruises and cuts but her attitude undimmed. She keeps grinning at you for some reason.

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” she says contentedly. You scowl, cross the last t and dot the last i, and stand up and stretch. John is practically superglued to his sister’s side, and while his expression is cheerful as always you know that body language, and what he’s reliving when he stops being preoccupied with his general derpness.

 

You’ve turned in your report and are preparing to go home when the Chief calls you in.

 

The Chief is a carapace by the name of Armie Regent, and on a good day you feel mostly indifferent towards him. He’s beaming at you. You don’t think that’s a particularly good sign.

 

“Hello, Karkat,” he says. “Rough day today. Good job!”

 

“Thanks,” you say, because really, what else is there to say?

 

“Sit down, son,” he says, and you bristle at the “son” but obey. “I wanted to talk to you about a reassignment.”

 

“Reassignment?” you repeat. Surely they aren’t gonna make you move, are they? You’ve lived in Altville your whole life. You’re pretty sure it might kill you to move, even if you mostly hate this oozing pustule of a city. It has good memories. Good friends, still.

 

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that young Miss Crocker and Mr. Egbert have become permanent fixtures within the last few years,” Regent says, and you have a bad feeling about this. “The way you handled Mr. Egbert during the crisis, and talked to Miss Crocker before SWAT…that’s some above-and-beyond stuff, kid. Really good stuff.”

 

You hold your breath.

 

“Try this on for size.” Regent sits back in his chair and spreads an arm. “Detective Vantas of the Altville Police Department.”

 

You blink, your ears ringing.

 

“Sir?”

 

“Well, lemme spell it out,” Regent chuckles. “I want you promoted to detective, and I want you to take responsibility for our young consulting detectives.”

 

You are at once elated and crushed. But mostly elated. You’re the one who handles Jane and Egderp most of the time anyway, so it was only natural. Detective, though—you could get used to that. You love the sound of it already. Detective Vantas. Yes.

 

“I’d be honored, sir,” you manage to stammer. “Thanks. Thanks very much.”

 

“I’m counting on you, Detective,” Regent winks. “Keep those two in line, would you?”

 

And the double edge of that promotion. You hope your face isn’t too grimacey.

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Go home, son, you look wiped,” Regent grins. Hey, he doesn’t need to tell you twice.

 

Detective Vantas. Yeah, you _really_ like the sound of that. That also means you don’t have to wear this tacky uniform anymore.

 

However, because she is a bad friend, Jade pouts when you tell her about it at lunch that weekend.

 

“Aw, I liked the uniform.”

 

You roll your eyes at her. “It fit horribly and itched. I’m upgrading to suits now.”

 

Her eyes brighten considerably. You throw a piece of spinach at her from your salad. You’re trying to eat a little healthier. Getting a little paunchy. How, you have no idea, since all you do is run after buck-toothed idiots literally all the time, but there you go. Probably a nonstop diet of coffee and the last gummy donut in the box from last week isn’t the best thing for you to be eating most of the time. That’s why Sunday lunch is happening; it’s a regular thing Jade has decided you need. Usually she invites John and Dave and Rose and sometimes Jane along, too, but it’s just you two today. Super.

 

“Ooh, suits,” she sighs dreamily. You shrug.

 

“Better than the uniform.”

 

“But, still, detective! That warrants celebration!” Jade laughs. “I’ll get the Dr. Pepper!”

 

“No, not the Dr. Pepper,” you groan, but she’s already scampering towards her fridge. Curse her and her inexhaustible supply of fizzy nectar.

 

She only gives you a shot glass full and you guzzle it down and don’t ask for more. She drinks straight from the bottle and sets it back down. You grimace and sincerely hope she hadn’t done that before she poured you a drink.

 

“What’s new with you, then?” you ask, and she shrugs.

 

“Just lining up the company portfolio, is all,” she says. “Boring businessy stuff.”

 

“I talk about my boring coppy stuff,” you point out.

 

“It’s not boring. You were involved in a hostage situation a couple days ago. That’s big stuff,” Jade counters. You let her have that one, even though you would dearly like to argue that it’s not like you were entertained or anything. “My stuff includes stock prices and yearly revenue charts.”

 

“Yeah, alright,” you grin, and then frown when your pocket vibrates.

 

“Hello?”

 

“Karkat?”

 

You almost drop your phone.

 

“Porrim?”

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Porrim says, and you feel yourself go a little weak-kneed. “How are you?”

 

“I’m—fine, just fine,” you say, your brain more or less mush. For one, she sounds like a younger, sultrier version of your mother, though she has the sultry on hold for talking to her “baby bro”. For another…you haven’t actually talked to Porrim in years. Nothing personal, just…busy. “Is everything okay?”

 

“Well…kinda,” Porrim says, and you swallow hard. “Listen, Karkat, I was wondering when you can get down to Befforville.”

 

“That’s six hours away,” you reply. “How long do you need me for?”

 

“How long can you get away?”

 

You don’t like the sound of that, but you do some number-crunching. You’ve been saving up some vacation time. You were hoping to not have to use it until either something special came around or you got forced into it (likely the latter), but she sounds earnest.

 

“Maybe a week, tops.” It’s probably bad form to skip out right after you get a big promotion, but family emergencies don’t wait. The Chief’ll understand, he’s a family man himself, according to him. “What’s this all about?”

 

“It’s…it’s Kankri,” she says, and your stomach does several confused leaps.

 

“What about Kankri?” you snap.

 

“He’s not doing so well. It’s best you hear it from him.”

 

Your throat decides to close up, but you manage to choke through it. “Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

She breathes a sigh of relief. “Thanks so much, Karkat. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

 

Funnily enough, Maryam definitions of “important” differ from Vantas definitions of “important”, but you give her the benefit of the doubt because, well, she’s your sister, for all intents and purposes. “Sure. Bye, Porrim.”

 

“Bye, Karkat. Be safe. I’ll email you directions.”

 

“Oh, hey, Porrim?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Is Kanaya coming?”

 

“I don’t think so; she said she was busy with the show coming up, but she’ll try to get down as soon as she can.”

 

Well, that shoots those plans in the face.

 

“So, this situation…is it…like, is it dire, or can I…bring someone?”

 

Porrim laughs. “Why? Are you seeing someone?”

 

“What? No,” you spit, “no, nothing like that, it’s just that my car’s a piece of crap and it’d be cheaper to just carpool down. Y’know?”

 

“I understand,” she says. “That’s perfectly fine. We have plenty of room here.”

 

“Thanks,” you say, and hang up after exchanging another round of goodbyes.

 

You look at Jade, who is studying you with a somber expression.

 

“What did she want?”

 

“Wouldn’t say,” you grunt, returning to your plate. “Gonna need to find a way to get to Befforville ASAP, though.”

 

Jade chews on the end of a bone from the chicken wings you had for lunch (cluckbeast wings, you’d insisted, before conceding that “chicken wings” slid off the tongue much easier).

 

“I’m going to be stuck in a lab with Testing all week,” she says thoughtfully, “but I bet John would take you, if I let him borrow my car.”

 

You stare. “Six hours in a car with John Egderp? No thanks. No. Not gonna happen. Absolutely not.”

 

“Well, he’s your best shot,” Jade shrugs, “and he’ll start badgering you about what he can do to repay you after you helped Jane come Monday morning, so it’s best to just accept his help and his friendship as soon as possible.”

 

No. John is going to have to shove his friendship down your throat, so far down it starts leaking out your sphincter. He’s only in your upper gastrointestinal system at best.

 

“Get a ride from John,” Jade repeats, and her voice is very firm. You roll your eyes and pretend that you are not going to consider her offer while swirling leafy greens around your plate.

 

John is enthusiastic, if nothing else. But you’ve since come to terms with the fact that “enthusiastic” is John Egbert in a nutshell. When you finally argue with Jade long enough that you swallow your own pride (or choke it down after attempting to rage vomit it all over the place, it’s hard to tell with you) and call him up, he agrees instantly.

 

“Sure! It’ll be fun! A roadtrip with just us bros, going to see your family!”

 

You grate your teeth together.

 

“Super.”

 

Somehow or another, it all works out (Chief Regent wasn’t too pleased, but he understood, and by “understood” you mean “understood that you’re going to be putting in overtime when you get back mister”), and by early the next morning you’re leaving for Befforville, your cheek tingling with Jade’s lip marks (did she wear the peppermint lip gloss again? She needs to stop) and your pan basically swirling down the drain of panic and apprehension while John turns on the sappy Top 40 hits from twenty years ago.

 

It’s going to be a long road trip.

 

The first couple of hours are tortuous. John is hyperactive, kicking his legs and wailing at the top of his lungs to every song he knows even partially. You curl your grip tight around the steering wheel and wish you were in your cruiser, craptastic though it is. You’d probably shave the time down to only four and a half hours if you put your lights on now and then. But this is Jade’s car, and you’re driving a little more carefully than usual, because she told you and John in no uncertain terms that if you so much as scratched it you would be her personal slave for an indeterminate amount of time. You’ve been her personal slave before. Doing her laundry is not your idea of fun.

 

Sometime around the first gas stop he shoots out of the car like a puppy on a sugar rush. You fill up the tank (which luckily is much less than usual, because Jade’s car is a Harley Hybrid of her own design), check your snack reserves, and decide you need a refill on your lemonade. And, while you’re at it, a pee break, because you’ve been sucking down lemonade in an attempt to not rip John a new one. You are being downright saintly with all this patience you’re having towards John Egbert. If you can find out a way to slip a Dramamine into his Cherry Coke you’ll be having a very pleasant car trip, indeed.

 

Hours three and four are a little more low-key. John’s energy is wearing off, which is a godsend to you, and you treat it as such. He lets you commandeer the radio, finally, and you switch it to a more contemporary pop station. To be honest, you used to have it on NPR, but…you’re a sentimental guy with stupid sentimental feelings, alright? Leave it alone.

 

You didn’t quite realize you’d said the last part out loud until John says, “Leave what alone?”

 

“Nothing,” you growl.

 

“Hey, you’ve been really quiet this whole trip,” John says. “Are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine, Egbert,” you grumble.

 

He bites his lip, which you know because you happened to glance over when he cursed quietly because he bit down too hard while you were going over a bump.

 

“It’s just…Jade said you were really edgy when you got the phone call, and even on crime scenes you usually talk more,” he says.  You knew Jade was a filthy traitor. “I mean…this is pretty cool, right? It’s been a while since you’ve seen your family, from what I’ve heard.”

 

You grunt.

 

“And we get to talk some more, so that’s cool, right?” John smiles. “I feel like we could be better friends!”

 

“Egbert,” you say, “we spend a lot of time together and have many mutual acquaintances. We’re already ‘friends’, in the strictest sense of the word.”

 

“I said _better_ friends, dude, I already knew we were friends,” he laughs, and you almost bite your tongue. Friendship approaching mid-gastrointestinal system. “We could play a get-to-know-you game. That’ll pass the time.”

 

You grimace. “How old are you, twelve?”

 

“Well, fine,” he huffs. “Hey, I’m just trying to make this next week easier on both of us, alright? I mean, I’m gonna be in a city I don’t know with people I don’t know, and you’re gonna be facing some people who you haven’t talked to in a while, probably because you got in a fight with ‘em over something and tried to cut ties. But hey. Whatever.”

 

He’s been talking to Jane, and Jane has been sticking her nose in your business. That, or she and Jade are conspiring while John is in the room. Jade has a more accurate view of your past than Jane does, but Jane so very often hits the mark when it comes to you. You hate that. (The idea that John probably actually figured it out on his own doesn’t occur to you until much, much later.)

 

However, that does not mean he doesn’t have a point.

 

(You need to get some space from your humans. Your pride is hardly putting up a fight these days when you snap at them.)

 

(Wait, _your_ humans? Yes, definitely need some space.)

 

“We’re going to see my adopted sister and my hatchmate,” you say grudgingly. “Porrim is related to Kanaya. Kankri’s related to me.”

 

He brightens a little at mention of Kanaya. She’s become a little more permanent in his social circle since she and Rose started doing their weird romantic tango of sexual tension, which you cannot think about without becoming a little ill. But it’s not a big deal, really. So long as Kanaya’s happy. And Rose, since somehow you care about Rose, too.

 

“Cool,” John chirps. “Is Kankri like you, then?”

 

“We have the same blood color and look similar, if that’s what you’re getting at,” you reply. “That’s about where the similarities end.”

 

You don’t want to talk about Kankri right now, though. Not until you know what’s going on. The life span of a mutant like you is basically unknown, since as best as you’ve been able to find out no one before the first Karkat and Kankri ever had the color and neither of them were allowed to live out their lives, for one reason or another. You’ve always wondered if maybe your lifespan was shorter than normal, or if you were prone to some diseases other trolls couldn’t get. The possibilities are gnawing at you and compounding with the other issue, which is…well…you and Kankri didn’t part on the best of terms, when your mother died.

 

Nope. Not gonna talk about this right now.

 

“What about you, John, got other family?”

 

“Oh, not really,” he smiles. “It was just Jane and Dad, really. I mean, Ms. Peixes was kind of like our grandma or great-grandma, but she didn’t have much to do with us, not since I was twelve or thirteen.” He shifts a little. “She’s…actually disinheriting Jane, y’know.”

 

You choke on your lemonade. “What, now?”

 

“Oh, you didn’t know?” John asks. “It’s all over the place. Apparently Jane and her got in a huge fight over her being…y’know…a detective now, and not taking any of her Betty Crocker responsibilities seriously, and Jane basically walked out. So now Ms. Peixes is making it official and whacking her off the family tree, just like Meenah and Feferi.”

 

You hadn’t realized any of this. Where’s your head been? You are such an idiot.

 

“And Jane was okay with you just leaving in the middle of all that?”

 

“Yup!” John grins. “I think she didn’t want me near the action, just in case Ms. Peixes got too disinheriting-happy and decided to cut me off, too. Between you and me, though, I don’t think she intends on giving over her company to me. The most she’s said to me is yelling during photo shoots.”

 

It is starting to dawn on you that maybe John Egbert is hiding a lot of his own family trauma. You already know about the biggest trauma to date. You were the first one there, after all. But being under the constant thumb of that cold-blooded witch? That’s a fate you wouldn’t wish on anyone, not even John. Your few encounters with her still leave you feeling cold and empty inside. For a variety of reasons.

 

“Uh…sorry, man.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Just…a lot of things, okay? Take the apology and apply it towards whatever festering wound you feel it’s most applicable towards. Geez.”

 

“Okay.”

 

The rest of the trip is actually relatively pleasant, with some small talk now and then, and you’re feeling marginally relaxed until you realize you’re almost to Porrim and Kankri’s and you still don’t know what’s wrong.

 

Which means you pull over on the side of the interstate to have a small, contained panic attack inside your own head.

 

“Hey,” John says, “are you okay?”

 

You concentrate on breathing and shake your head.

 

He doesn’t talk anymore, but tentatively reaches out and touches your shoulder. You flinch, and his hands hop away quickly.

 

“Sorry.”

 

You shake your head again, then slap yourself in the face.

 

“Just. Uh.” You reach for your phone to double-check the address Porrim texted you. “Don’t. I’m fine.”

 

He’s chewing on his lip again. You shake your head and continue driving, your nerves twanging like an abused guitar and your belly a simmering pot of emotion. You’re going to give yourself heartburn if you don’t stop. You’re pretty sure you already have an ulcer or three from running after Crocker most of your professional life (and now you’re going to do it full-time, ain’t you lucky).

 

It’s a little white shanty about a block from the beach, and when you get out the salt hits you in a warm refreshing breeze. John whoops a little when he gets out.

 

“Aw, man, that’s amazing,” he says, eyes glazed and holding his arms up in the air. You roll your eyes.

 

“Alright, stay put while I go check it out,” you say. He rolls his eyes back, but obeys. You walk towards the front door and pause with your mitt over the doorbell. You don’t know if you can do this.

 

You’re spared, because Porrim has seen you through the screen door and is in the process of gathering you up in her arms.

 

Once upon a time, you were a shorter troll and her low-cut shirts used to make you very uncomfortable, but now your head fits on her shoulder when she hugs you and you take a moment to breathe deep. She wears the same perfume your mother used to—jasmine and peach, if you recall correctly. It’s a nice nostalgia punch to the senses.

 

“It’s so good to see you, Karkat,” she says, taking your face in her hands and running her thumbs over your cheeks. “You’re looking well.”

 

She’s too kind. You crack a small smile.

 

“You too, Porrim.”

 

“Who’s your friend?” she asks, and you sigh a little.

 

“Porrim, this is a guy I work with, John Egbert,” you say, and John takes that as his cue to approach. “John, this is my sister Porrim.”

 

“Hi!” John grins. “It’s nice to meet you! Thanks for letting me come with him!”

 

“We’re just glad he could make it,” Porrim smiles, “so thank you for bringing him.”

 

You clear your throat. John’s eyes are lingering too long on Porrim’s tattoos for your comfort. “Yeah, well. Um. Where do you want us to dump our stuff?”

 

She gets you both squared away in the guest block, which has a bed and an air mattress in it, and you keep your eyes peeled. Her respite block is across from yours, and it looks tidy, just how you’d expect. Kankri’s is at the end of the hall, and closed. When you linger by it on the way to the ablution block, you can’t hear any noise.

 

John informs you that he’s going to hit the beach, and absconds. You appreciate.

 

“Where is he?” you ask quietly.

 

“Sulking,” Porrim sighs, and you blink. “There’s some tea in the nutrition block, if you want some.”

 

Yes, tea would be nice.

 

You settle into the couch with your teacup and wait for Porrim to join you.

 

“So what’s wrong with him?” you ask. “What was so important?”

 

“Kankri…” she trails off, then sips her tea. You wait patiently for her to finish stalling. If there is one set of people in the world you are truly patient with, it’s Maryams. “Kankri is going through a rough patch right now.”

 

You grimace. “What kind of rough patch?”

 

“The kind where he won’t ask for help,” Porrim says, “and if you’ll be so kind as to check the calendar, you’ll see why.”

 

You check it on your phone. Oh.

 

“So, what, is he mouthing off at people more than usual about safe driving habits?” you ask. “While couching everything in ‘politically correct’ terms and droning on and on about junk no one cares about?”

 

Porrim gives you a look. You avoid her gaze.

 

“It’s more like he avoids eating and hides out on the beach and other places on his own and won’t answer his phone,” Porrim says. Your gut stirs uncomfortably, but sweeps of caked-on bitterness are hard to shake.

 

“So he’s skipping a few meals, big deal. And if he wants to have an existential crisis, let him. He’s not bothering anyone.”

 

“He’s bothering me,” she snips. “And it should be bothering you.”

 

“Porrim, I just got a major promotion!” you gripe. “I’m taking a major risk here, coming out here when I should be back home proving I deserved to be made detective! So Mr. Temperamental is throwing a tantrum because he misses her, it’s not like—”

 

The heavy footfalls in the doorway are too deliberate to be mistaken for Kankri just casually walking in. You set down the teacup, because Porrim will be upset if you throw it at him, and curl your hands on your knees, waiting.

 

He’s wearing that idiotic red sweater again, but even you can tell from this distance that it’s hanging on him. His eyes look bruised. His hair is lank. Everything about him is screaming unhealthy. You feel a twin surge of concern and vindication.

 

“Karkat,” he says, and his voice is hoarse.

 

“Kankri,” you return, and you keep your tone neutral. Even you aren’t stupid enough to pick a fight with Porrim right there.

 

He stares at you, then looks at Porrim.

 

“Why is he here?” he asks.

 

“She invited me, douchelord,” you say loudly. Alright, maybe you are that stupid. “Apparently she’s worried about you.”

 

“I’m alright, Porrim,” Kankri says, and his voice gains a bit of heat. “How many times must we go through this? I do not need your mothering. I am fine. I am handling myself to the best of my ability.”

 

“Apparently your best isn’t good enough,” you interject. The way he won’t look at you, but glares at Porrim, is rubbing you all kinds of wrong. “It’s called food. You need it to live.”

 

“I’m handling it,” he repeats, and his teeth are just a little clenched. Porrim looks cool as a cucumber, to use an idiotic human phrase (curse Dave and his clichés), but her hands are clenched.

 

“I’m worried about you,” she says bluntly. “Kankri, you’re not taking care of yourself. It’s been getting worse all year.”

 

He doesn’t say anything, but wordlessly growls when she reaches for him.

 

“Kankri,” you say, and wait for him to turn around. He doesn’t, but his head cocks a little. “I don’t give a sewer rat’s soggy flea-ridden hindquarters what you do to yourself, but don’t talk that way to her.”

 

He looks at you then, bright red eyes glowing a little brighter.

 

“Shut up, Karkat,” he says, and that’s _it_.

 

If you weren’t busy slamming him against the wall, you’d be able to appreciate the irony of The Insufferable telling _you_ to shut up. Porrim is on her feet and yelling, but you’re busy keeping your hands in his sweater and not wailing on his face.

 

“You show her more respect,” you spit, “because she’s just looking out for you. You wanna be mad, be mad at me, not at Porrim.”

 

“Didn’t stop you,” he replies, and you grind your fists into his bony shoulders. “How many missed calls did it take before it finally sunk in something was wrong?”

 

You don’t need this right now, and if you stay under the same roof, you are going to break something. Like his spine. Over your knee.

 

You do the only smart thing and evacuate the hive.

 

You don’t get far before Porrim catches up. She grabs you arm and makes you stop your determined stalk towards the beach.

 

“That could’ve gone better,” you grunt. She sighs and runs her hand over her face.

 

“Why does this happen whenever you two are in the same room now?” she asks. “You used to get along so well.”

 

“Okay, for starters, we never really got along,” you frown. “For another, he’s acting like a brat, and I’m going to treat him how he’s asking. He doesn’t get to disrespect you just because he’s in a pissy mood. He doesn’t get to bring up my screw-ups because he’s feeling low. No. He doesn’t get to…” You lose your momentum and scrub at your eyes. No, not now, you’re in the middle of a discussion. “He doesn’t get to…bring up Mom because he knows that’s the one thing that’ll push me over. No.”

 

“Karkat,” Porrim says gently, and you hate yourself a little bit for losing your temper, “I know his behavior isn’t the best, but that’s why I called you down here. If he’ll listen to anyone, he’ll listen to you.”

 

You laugh, and it’s a sick, hollow sound. “Since when? Since when has anything I’ve ever said gotten through to him? He’s always been like this, so high-and-mighty even when he’s pitching a fit and pretending to be humble or whatever.”

 

“It wasn’t always this bad,” she says softly. “And I don’t believe it can’t get better. Please, Karkat, at least try. Try to understand, try to be civil. Please.”

 

No force on earth but a Maryam could get you to bend over quite this far. You nod.

 

“But I’m not going back in that house until I don’t wanna…I dunno, strangle him with his own bone bulge,” you say. “So. Beachtime. Woohoo.”

 

She touches your cheek. “Do what you have to do. I’ll handle Kanny right now.”

 

She shouldn’t have to. She shouldn’t have to deal with him at all. But you nod and let her go back into the house, because if you try to stop her she’ll give you a Look and it won’t be pleasant. You go to the beach, since that’s the way you’re headed, even though it’d be uncomfortable in your jeans and sneakers. At least you wore a t-shirt today.

 

You just end up rolling up your jeans and carrying your shoes and socks. The beach is mostly deserted, since it’s a little late in the season for most tourists, but it feels perfect to you, a stretch of white sand and turquoise water and a sun that would burn you if you were a thin-skinned human. You wonder idly where John got off to, hope he didn’t wander too far or drown, and then go back to enjoying the solitude.

 

Gamzee would’ve loved this place. You should’ve brought him. But that’s dangerous and painful talk and you will stop that right now.

 

“Hey, Karkat!”

 

John is rising out of the…out of the water. Um. And slicking his hair back. Objectively, he has nice arms. And abs. Where did those come from and where was he hiding them.

 

You wonder what, in all the worlds that were and are, is wrong with you.

 

“How’d it go?” He hits the side of his head a few times and digs around in his ear. He looks different without his glasses. Easier to look at his whole face. “You’re back awfully quick.”

 

“Yeah, it didn’t go well,” you say shortly. “Me and Kankri tend to cause friction.”

 

“Aw, man, I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, and scratches the inner rim of one of his nostrils. Ah, there we go. Back to the Egderp channel. “Is he okay, though?”

 

You look at him, then sit down at the tideline.

 

“No,” you say quietly, “he’s not.”

 

He stands beside you, then settles down, hands on his knees. His skin is darker than his sister’s, not quite as dark as Jade’s. Pretty smooth. Stop that.

 

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

 

You open your mouth to refuse. By all rights, he shouldn’t even be here. If you’d been less of a cheapskate you could’ve gotten a bus ticket no problem. He’d be back in Altville, where you guess you should also be because coming was a mistake and you knew it. You love Porrim, you really do, but she just doesn’t get it when it comes to Kankri.

 

You want to tell Egbert to mind his own business. But instead you sigh and start talking.

 

“When I was about seven sweeps…not much older than you were, actually, when you lost your dad…our mother was in a car accident. I mean, _nasty_. Got broadsided by a semi and rolled into a ditch. Car settled upside-down. She died before the paramedics even got there.

 

“She, uh.” You rub at your eyes. Darn salt, getting in everywhere. “She tried to call me a few times, before and after the crash. I was…stupid, I was sulking somewhere because I was mad at her for not letting me to go an overnight concert with some of my friends, I didn’t even pick up the phone when she called, not a single time.” You press the heels of your hands to your eyelids. “Kankri got pissed. Like…really upset. I’ve never heard him yell so much, not even when I was trying to get a rise out of him as kids, y’know? We got in a fight, big knock-down-drag-out fight, right after the funeral, and the dirt hadn’t even settled properly before he’d packed up his stupid Bug and moved down here. Porrim followed a few years later, like she always does, she can’t help herself. She needs to take care of him no matter how dumb he’s being.”

 

“And…how is he right now?” John asks gently.

 

“Not good,” you reply, attempting to grind in your eyeballs in an attempt to shut yourself up. “He has this thing…whenever he’s upset, like, really upset, he just…stops functioning. He doesn’t take it out on anything, doesn’t try to work it out, he just ignores it, ignores himself, just…stops. And. He’s doing that right now. And it’s scaring Porrim, and I guess she wants us to make up or something, but…” You shake your head. “It’s like every time he opens his mouth I just want to shove my fist inside and make him eat his own teeth. He can be such a pretentious bulge-licking wriggler.”

 

You decide the smartest thing to do now is to bury your head in your arms, which are settled on your knees. It’s a very childish gesture, but you feel like a child. In some ways you wish you were a child again. Your childhood was pretty great, all things considered.

 

You stiffen when John puts his arm around you.

 

“Look, man, I won’t pretend to understand all of what you and your brother are going through,” he says, “but I get it a little bit. I miss my dad so much that sometimes I do some pretty crazy stuff, just because…it sounds silly, but I guess a part of my brain thinks that maybe if I do something crazy enough, he’ll pop up to scold me away from whatever I’m doing, y’know?”

 

You…guess you see his point? Maybe? You just grunt because that’s the safest bet.

 

“But I do know one thing,” he says, and shifts a little closer. You are suddenly aware of his sunblock smell. “You can’t get through life without your family. Dad’s gone, but I still have Jane. And I don’t know what I’d do without her, even though she drives me crazy sometimes.”

 

Oh. There’s the point. In what he was saying, you mean. He squeezes your shoulders a little.

 

“You know?”

 

“Yeah,” you grump, then shrug him off. “When’d you get this smart, Egderp?”

 

“Hey, I’m smart!” he protests, and you roll your eyes.

 

“This coming from the kid who thought it would be a good idea to steal my gun and threaten a mobster with it.”

 

“That was a one-time thing and you know it!”

 

You scratch your neck. “Don’t go getting lost, alright? I’m gonna…go try and clean up my mess.”

 

“Good luck,” John says, clapping you on the shoulder. His eyes are very blue. _Stop that._

 

You spend the walk back to the hive squaring your shoulders and thinking about what you’re gonna say. You honestly have no clue, but you think…well…apologizing might be a good start.

 

Kankri is seated at the nutrition block table when you walk back in, an untouched cup of tea in front of him and a slice of toast he’s tearing into pieces. Porrim, apparently paused mid-lecture, closes her mouth, gets up, and leaves the room, touching your arm on the way out. You figure she’ll hear all the important stuff, since you and Kankri both have a problem with whispering and it’s a small hive, so you plop into her unoccupied chair and fiddle with your shirt hem.

 

You both sit there in awkward silence for what feels like at least fifteen minutes. Finally, you clear your throat.

 

“Look, uh,” you say, “I’m not good at this kind of thing, so I’m just gonna spit it out. I’m sorry.”

 

Kankri blinks.

 

“I’m sorry about Mom,” you continue, “and I’m sorry I never picked up the phone when she called. I’m sorry I hit you at the funeral. I’m sorry I haven’t tried to keep in contact. I’m sorry for calling you names—which, let’s be honest, you totally deserved at the time, but anyway—I’m sorry. I am.”

 

Your entire tirade you’ve been watching Kankri’s eyes fill up with red-tinted tears, and he sort of…slumps, wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

 

“No, Karkat,” he says, his voice shaking, “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’ve been horrible to you.”

 

“Well. I mean.” You bite the inside of your cheek. “Not without provocation.”

 

“No, you don’t get it,” he says, and you stare at the floodgates he’s opening, “I was only ever angry with you because…because it was easier to be angry with you than to admit that I’m the reason Mom died.”

 

“You—what?”

 

“I was on the phone with her,” Kankri chokes, “when she got hit. I guess the wreck—I guess it disconnected us, but I’m glad it did, because she didn’t deserve to talk to me, I was just whining at her about you, I wasn’t—”

 

“Kankri, no,” you say helplessly, because you don’t know what else to say. “Come on. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

“It was, though!” he sobs. That’s one thing you’ve never seen Kankri do, not even at the funeral. “I w-was upset and angry and worried because you weren’t home and I knew you were out p-pitching a hissy fit over your dumb concert, and I wouldn’t just leave her alone and let her drive even though she told me several times she needed to hang up so she could drive more c-carefully, and—” He sucks in a huge breath. “I heard her get hit, Karkat, I heard it. It was—it was just so much _easier_ to blame it on you, because she was already worried a-and you were just—you were just an open target, and it wasn’t fair, because you were only seven sweeps, you were just being a normal kid—”

 

You cross the table and hug him, hard. You let him stain your shirt with his tears and you hold your brother, because you finally understand that you aren’t the one in the family who hates themselves the most. You always prided yourself on holding that trophy—you are your own kismesis, you used to say, you hate yourself with a hate so pure and liquid it set the stars alight with your loathing. While that is still all true…you’ve always been more mouth than anything. Kankri, who is way more mouth than you’ll ever be, has been hiding a hurt probably deeper and a hate darker.

 

You are such a nookstain.

 

But, no, it isn’t about you, because your satchel of guilt, at least, has always been out there in the open. Kankri’s been lugging his around in secret for a long, long time. You hold him until the shaking stops being so severe and the sobbing devolves into hiccups, at which point you return to your chair.

 

“I’m sorry,” you say again. “I didn’t know.”

 

“No,” Kankri shakes his head, “please don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for, little brother. I’m sorry I left. I regret that, as well—you were still just a child and I shouldn’t have left you alone, for the sake of my own guilt.”

 

“So,” you say slowly, “all around, another Olympic Medal in the self-absorbed panleak category for the Vantases?”

 

He laughs, and it’s rusty but true. “I believe celebratory imbibements are in order.”

 

“That’s not a word,” you chuckle as you notice he places a few scraps of toast in his mouth. “You’re just making crap up now.”

 

Porrim re-enters the nutrition block, drying her eyes, to find you and Kankri giggling at each other, his cup of tea completely drained and you at the stove making scrambled eggs.

 

The rest of the week goes by fairly uneventfully after that. Kankri and Porrim have a nice long talk after you and Kankri make up, and there’s more crying and hugging involved. Kanaya comes down the next day and is the target of more hugging and crying, though luckily not from you this time. You spend nearly every day at the beach, ignoring Porrim’s coy comments about John’s body and making sure Kankri eats regularly (which is a struggle, because to his knowledge he hadn’t eaten a solid three meals a day for over a month, but you’re confident in nothing but your ability to shove substances down someone else’s throat. Wait, that came out…weird…). You watch in mixed amusement and something very like, but not actually, jealousy as Porrim flirts with John and John, like an ignoramus, completely misses the point. You enjoy the sand and the sea and get sunburned.

 

You’re sad to go, actually, when your week is up, but you have work to do. You hug Porrim and Kanaya (so much for her show; you think that was just a ploy to get you to come down more or less on your own), and practically cling to Kankri. Which is odd, because he hates being touched, but after Monday, you think he might be over it when it comes to you.

 

“Take care, Karkat,” he whispers in your ear.

 

“You, too,” you say gruffly, and detach yourself. “I’ll try to come around again sometime soon.”

 

“Please do,” Porrim grins, “and bring more of your friends next time! I want to meet them!”

 

You salute her, and you and John get back in Jade’s car and start back for home.

 

“Best vacation ever,” John grins, “or best vacation ever?”

 

His skin is a little darker than it was earlier in the week. You wonder how carefully you could get away with spilling something on his shirt and making him take it off before he messes up Jade’s car. He starts singing along to the radio and you decide it isn’t worth the possible mutilation via Jade’s fingernails.

 

Things are more or less back to normal when you pull into your driveway. John is snoring up a storm and you think it’s about time you took your mother some flowers. It’s been a pretty hard few sweeps without her. But this break to revisit your family? Best thing that could’ve happened.

 

Next time you need to bring Jade and more of your friends, for sure. You flick Egbert awake and conveniently forget to hug him when he leaves. One thing at a time, Vantas. One thing at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that was Karkat's week-long "Oh no he's hot" moment.
> 
> Beach episode, awwww yeeeeah. And family feels. I hope I handled those family feels alright. Please school me thoroughly if I did something wrong.


	8. Terezi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another update, because work on finishing Sherlockbound is clipping! Early next week is my absolute deadline, but I'm so very close to being done, so hopefully it'll be soon!
> 
> Also, updating the tags with the warning of suicidal thoughts and self-harm , because Gamzee is not exactly stable right now.

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are twelve sweeps (or somewhere around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, you have trouble keeping track nowadays).

 

Gamzee doesn’t take up as much room as he used to.

 

Granted, he’s still all knees and elbows with quite a few more pounds of lean muscle on him, but he tucks himself in tighter and presses himself into a hard knot against your back. This is the first night since your…reunion, for lack of a better word, that he’s agreed to share sopor with you.

 

At first, it hurt, because for the first few weeks you were still wonderstruck, still afraid to touch him in case he disappeared and too afraid to let him go in case he decided to maul someone else. You still think the “Best friend?” he whispered into your aural clot at the police station is the most beautiful thing he’s ever said. You know exactly how much of a sap you’re being and Jane’s new partner can suck it (he’s worse than Dave, why did you ever agree that letting him tag along was a good idea, except then you have to remember that Dirk Strider, whatever his faults, is very good for Jane, who you’ve been worried about since her brother got shot. You still can’t believe John didn’t tell you he’d skipped town). You used to share sopor before the incident and you kinda thought, now that he’s back, things would snap right back to normal.

 

But it isn’t. It’s hard. Because he still has episodes where he sees Messiahs and mirthfuls and you haven’t had to deal with him quite like this since the end of high school. He takes his rage out on himself now, though, scratching and biting and banging himself off of corners. You hold him as best you can and soothe away his broken little sobs that hitch in his throat when he touches your bruises and begs forgiveness. You’ve forgiven him. You forgave him the second he melted into your touch the first time you’d seen each other face-to-face in years.

 

But the law is not so forgiving. The law has to be answered. And the only reason why they’re letting Gamzee stay with you is an old, old clause concerning Highbloods and their moirails. You don’t like the way some of the other cops look at you, like you’re faking your relationship or covering Gamzee from something he deserves. You know, alright, you covered most of those crime scenes. You know what he did. And although you could probably get him acquitted on the basis of temporary insanity and keep him home with you ( _please, gog, let him stay with me, please_ ), no one is going to look at you or him the same way if you stay by him.

 

They can go flambé their bulges and season it with their angry tears. You have your one true palemate back. You’re not letting him go ever again.

 

He doesn’t loosen up in his sleep like he used to, but rather curls up tighter. You wonder where he’s been sleeping for the past few years, imagine the bottom of Lord English’s closet, and mentally slap yourself. It’ll take time, and he’ll probably never be the same as he once was. He’s undergone so many changes in the long time you’ve known him, you’re not sure who Gamzee really is. But, as you turn over and watch him sleep, his fist curled against his cheek, you don’t need to be completely sure. He’s Gamzee. He’s yours.

 

The next morning you get him settled with a bowl of grubflakes while you read the newspaper on your phone (the things technology can do these days…). He’s been alright to leave by himself the past couple of weeks while you go back to work full-time, but it still makes you nervous. Dirk and Jane are working with a private client currently, so hopefully you won’t need them for any stupid thing the scumbags of Altville have in store for you today. Sometimes you wonder if you rely on Jane too much, then shake your head. She gives you too many heart attacks for you to call her up on every willy-nilly case.

 

“Bro,” Gamzee says suddenly, “it’s New Year’s Eve.”

 

You frown at him. “And? Why should a crummy human holiday concern me?”

 

He shrugs, stirring his soggy cereal around. “Just figured you’d like to all up and get your bad self down to a party this evenin’, is all.”

 

“Why? Did you want to go?” you ask.

 

“Naw, Karbro,” he shakes his head, “I just…” He trails off, scratching at his hornbed. You wait patiently for him to find the words. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gamzee, it’s that he doesn’t just forget what he’s saying anymore.

 

“Yes?”

 

“I just…you deserve more than me,” he mumbles, and you have to strain to hear him. You put down your phone and walk around the table, dropping down beside him. He shuffles around until you’re squatting between his knees.

 

“Listen here, hornsucker,” you say, “you’re not an obligation. You’re a decision I made and I don’t plan on changing that. If— _if_ —I fill other quadrants, it’s because I want to, not because I think you’re not good enough. Got that?”

 

He leans forward, forehead to forehead, and sighs. His morning breath is putrid, but you don’t care right now. His lanky arms wrap around your ribs.

 

“Never did tell you, bro,” he murmurs. “I’m…real sorry. For the whole thing with Terezi.”

 

An old wound in your soul stings awake. You sigh.

 

“Nothing to forgive,” you reply. “I wasn’t in a quadrant with her. I hadn’t talked to her since middle school.”

 

“It was me what kept her quiet when she came back to town, though,” he keeps murmuring. “Wanted that all to myself. Knew if you knew you and she’d be all up in cahoots again and I wouldn’t get to see either one of you.”

 

“The mirthful messiahs themselves couldn’t tell Terezi Pyrope what to do,” you reply. “I don’t think it was just you keeping her trap shut. She could’ve sent me an email or dropped me a letter. She didn’t. That’s all.”

 

He doesn’t answer, but he does hug you a little tighter.

 

“Still sorry, bro.”

 

“Knock it off, Gamzee, I’m not mad about it anymore,” you say. “Ancient history. Water under the bridge. All those dumb clichés, which all amount to I forgive you, nooksack.”

 

He seems a little more cheerful when you pap his cheeks and then wriggle out of his embrace, slurping down his long-soggy cereal. You wrinkle your nose and finish getting ready for work.

 

As it happens, Sollux and Eridan have been trying to get you to come to their New Year’s thing for a couple of weeks now. Somehow or another, after they moved out of your old place, they ended up both living with Feferi, and now they have a weird thing going that’s hard to define even by convoluted troll terminology. The best you can make of it is it’s a three-way clusterbumble of vacillation and ambiguous pailing, but it’s not your relationship, not your problem, not your business. You do, however, spare a moment of exasperation for Feferi and her insane willingness to take on the two most insufferable guys you’ve ever known at once. What a chump.

 

It might not be a bad idea to pay those guys a visit again.

 

You think about it the entire day while you catch up on paperwork, and think about it some more when you come home to find Gamzee’s latest attempt at cooking burning a hole through your backyard. You’re stretched out on the couch with Gamzee’s head in your lap when you tentatively decide to bring it up.

 

“So, uh, Eridan, Sollux, and Feferi are doing this thing tonight.”

 

Gamzee grins. “You don’t say, bro.”

 

 “I’m thinking about going.”

 

He chirrups a little when you start scratching his scalp. “Sounds like a plan, palebro. You go on and get your dance on. Find a cute little somebody to hook up with.”

 

You rap his horn with your knuckles. Some things never change.

 

After a good long jam, which you hope, in combination with sopor, will keep him loose and relaxed for the remainder of the evening, you dig through your closet to find something casual. Something that doesn’t scream “I’m going to arrest you if you so much as look at me wrong” or “Pull this loser’s pants up to his armpits and carry him around by the waistband until he cries.” You fail at succeeding, give up, and just pull on a black sweater.

 

The place your childhood friends now live in is smaller than you expected, a penthouse with exclusive access to the roof. It’s chilly, but not unbearable as you get out of your cruiser (a little extra insurance never hurt). Already you can hear the sounds of merriment, which sounds a lot like Sollux doing drunk karaoke. You square your shoulders and prepare for a long night.

 

You don’t actually know a lot of people here. There’s a lot more species variety than there was back in school; you wonder how many of these people were invited, and how many Eridan just let in to take up space and make himself look more popular. (He’s not above that, as evidenced by your graduation party, during which you think he made out with a carapace for the better part of the evening, but that might have been some other doucehfin.) You square your jaw and press past, looking for your friends. If you check in with them now it’ll save you the trouble of dealing with them later on, when they’re less likely to be so accommodating to your prickly personality.

 

Sollux is indeed doing karaoke, but he’s not drunk, unless you count the presence of his matesprit to be the equivalent, which it just might be. Feferi is laughing too hard to sing with him, because he’s overexaggerating his lisp. You watch him for a bit, trying not to smile and thinking to yourself that it’s good he knows how to loosen up now and then. He sees you a moment later, and bounds away to punch you in the shoulder.

 

“Didn’t think you were gonna show, man,” he grins. “What’th up?”

 

You shrug. “Figured it wouldn’t kill me to get out of the hive for a while. Gamzee hasn’t destroyed so much as a toaster since he came home, so I figured he was safe to leave alone for a while.”

 

Sollux shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything, which you’re grateful for. “Hey, come on, ED wantth to thee you.”

 

“Oh, peachy,” you grumble, but let him lead you around until you locate said fishface. Eridan hugs you, slapping your back too hard and too many times.

 

“Good to see you, Kar,” he smiles. You wonder when the last time you saw them was, because they’re acting like it’s been three hundred sweeps. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

 

“Humble,” you say flatly, eying the open floor plan, the wall-sized TV, the granite countertops in the nutrition block, and the marble tiles in the ablution block. “Right.”

 

“Is that Karcrab?” someone asks, and you groan. Honestly, it’s not like you’re a hermit or anything. But Feferi swoops in and gathers you into her bosom and you take it like a man because you know she’ll do the mother of all pouty faces if you don’t let her get her nurturing out of the way. “It’s been wave too long!”

 

Okay, something is up. You eye all three of them suspiciously.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Nothin’,” Eridan says, and he looks honestly confused. “We’re just glad to see you, is all.”

 

“No one is this glad to see me,” you say flatly. “You three are planning something.”

 

“Whatever would we be planning?” Feferi asks innocently, snaking her arm around Sollux’s waist. Sollux in turn twines his fingers with Eridan, who is flicking his eyes over you. You almost choke on your own tongue.

 

“No,” you say, “no, no, no, _no_. I am _not_ jumping in on that crazy train. Absolutely not. No.”

 

Feferi and Eridan’s brows furrow, but Sollux gets it first. “Oh, groth, KK, don’t even joke like that.”

 

“Then don’t ask,” you grunt. “I knew coming would be a mistake, jegus—”

 

“If you’d shut your thquawk blithter for a thec, inthtead of running your mouth like a nookleak, I could ecthplain,” Sollux interrupts, loosening his hold on both Feferi and Eridan. “We invited thomeone elthe here to meet you. We were kinda hoping you’d jutht run into each other, but thinthe you’re making it awkward, like you alwayth do—”

 

You, in turn, interrupt to inform Sollux of what exactly he can do to himself in lurid detail for the insinuation. He rolls his eyes, but continues.

 

“She’th on the roof,” he jerks his head upwards, “tho get yourthelf thome thnackth and go thay hi.”

 

“What makes you think I want to say hi?” you grump.

 

“Trutht me,” Sollux winks. “You wanna thay hi.”

 

You look at the three of them, who are wrapping around each other again, and pinch the bridge of your nose.

 

“It’s good to see you guys, too,” you say quietly. “Don’t freak me out like that again.”

 

“Well, Kar, if you ever want to…” Eridan’s eyebrows go crazy, and Feferi giggles.

 

“Just ask!”

 

You flip them all off and make for the roof amidst their giggles. Bulgelicking jerkfaces. You don’t know why you put up with them. You consider the snack table, decide you’re queasy, and wonder if you should force it and throw up on their nice bathroom floor (ablution block, you correct yourself, darn stupid humans). Then you make for the stairs.

 

The upstairs party is a little more sparse, since it’s chilly enough to see the hot steam of your breath, so you see who they were talking about instantly. You lock up, torn between wanting to make a run for it and wanting to storm up to her and do…something. While you are thus preoccupied, she sees you. Sniffs you. Whatever.

 

She freezes up, too, and it’s almost funny, like the two of you are hunting a tiger and were just spotted. You hunch your shoulders (against the cold, you think), and march up to her.

 

“Hi, Terezi.” There, you said hi.

 

“Hi,” she says back, fingering the cup in her hands. It’s full of some red liquid. Cherry soda, maybe. “Um…yeah.”

 

You stare at the city skyline, at the ground, at the covered swimming pool, at the other partygoers. She doesn’t appear to be sniffing at you, and she’s definitely not licking you. Bonus, you guess. Maybe.

 

She sighs, running her hand through her hair. “Can we…can we talk?”

 

You just nod and follow her to a corner of the building. She settles down on a rather large bean bag chair (shag bean bag chair, you might add, curse Eridan and his love of tacky things) and pats the spot next to her. It’s a little close, but you suck it up and sit down.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and you wrap your arms around your knees. Something about that pose always seems to calm you down. “I should’ve told you I was back in town. You didn’t deserve to find out like that.”

 

“I’m sorry I never tried to keep in touch in the first place,” you find yourself saying. “Look, what happened with you and Gamzee doesn’t matter to me. You guys were kismeses, whatever. I’m just…sorry I never tried to contact you again. That one’s on me.”

 

“Takes two to tango,” she says philosophically, then holds out her hand. “Friends?”

 

You take it and think about turning it backside up and kissing it, but refrain. “Definitely.”

 

You don’t move from that spot for the rest of the night, pretty much, because you’re busy reconnecting. You haven’t laughed this much in a while. She tells you all about her high school prom—definitely a more exciting affair than yours, since hers involved a flamethrower—her multiple sordid college experiences (though she’s never had to hold Eridan’s Halloween wig while he pukes in your bathtub, so you suppose that’s a one-up for you), and her current job. Like you always knew, she’s slated for District Attorney within ten years or less, charming her superiors and making ruthless work of her competitors. She doesn’t think your job sucks, and in fact she’s been tracking your career, which embarrasses and flatters you.

 

“In fact, I heard you’re in some trouble right now,” she says, her tone turning a little, and you don’t attempt to deny it and nod.

 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “I don’t think his lawyer is trying at all, really. I caught the guy using his case notes as a nutrition plateau for his sandwich the other day, dripping mustard all over the place. It just…” you sigh again and hunch a little. “I just got him back, I don’t want to lose him all over again. Who knows what he’s gonna do if he has to go to prison?”

 

Terezi has been studying you while you cope with letting yourself be vulnerable in her presence, and you hope your begging is subtle enough. You hope she isn’t going to make you ask outright for her help, much as you need it. She tentatively reaches out a hand and nabs your chin, turning your face towards her. Your pump-biscuit thumps hard against your ribs.

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” she says. The party, which has moved up to the roof to allow for more room to dance obnoxiously, starts shouting.

 

“Three! Two! One! _Happy New Year!_ ”

 

“Indulge me in a silly human tradition?” she asks, leaning in closer to be heard. You frown.

 

“What—?”

 

Then you notice everyone making out amidst the celebration, flick your eyes at Terezi, who is very close, and throw caution to the wind and press forward yourself.

 

She’s gotten better at kissing since middle school. You hope you have, too, though you haven’t had much practice lately. You worry about it for all of five seconds before having to adjust to kiss her longer and more comfortably.

 

Happy New Year, indeed. You take back every bad thing you’ve ever said about humans. Humans are _great_.

 

Then you hear the slight sound of a camera snapping and break away to see what—you know what, you take it back. Humans suck, and Jade Harley, who is giggling and taking a picture of you with her phone, is the _worst_.

 

But then Terezi recaptures your attention and you forget all about it. Though you’re going to have a Word with Jade later. And Eridan, who probably invited her.

 

You stumble back to your hive at about three AM, Terezi’s number in your phone and a cheesy smile plastered all over your face, as well as a large quantity of black lipstick. Gamzee stirs when you slip into the slime with him, scrapes his finger down your cheek, and grins.

 

“Good night, bro?”

 

“Awesome night,” you say fervently, and Gamzee loosens up and curls back up around you. You sleep better than you have in years.

 

The next few months fly by in preparation, lots of kissing, and a little bit of mediating when Gamzee and Terezi are in the same room. It’s clear that neither of them are much interested in pursuing their relationship again, but neither are they entirely above sniping at each other. The barbs get tiresome after a while, but at least they’re trying. You and Terezi still haven’t come out and said what, if anything, you are, but you’re not worried. She’s not going anywhere, and neither are you. Gamzee’s case is going to be over with quickly; sometimes that indigo blood of his is useful.

 

You know, in a hard dark part of your pan, that he would thoroughly deserve it if he gets convicted, and it wouldn’t be fair or just if he is allowed to roam free. You start having nightmares again, for what could happen to him if he goes to prison, for what could happen if he doesn’t. Gamzee understands, and you think a part of him wants some form of penance or punishment, because it’s getting a little harder to stop him from doing stupid stuff. Like, say, walking along the rail of the bridge over the river. And standing in a full bathtub with wet fingers looking at his reflection in the plugged-in toaster (seriously, what is his fixation with the toaster?). He’s making you sick with worry, and every time you tell him that he just kind of curls up a little tighter.

 

Things with Terezi, on the other hand, are pretty great. You’ve taken her on a real date now, like you always dreamed. And since you’ve had a few sweeps to plan, it went awesome. You took her to a human cathedral, which she complained about, and told her to pipe down and wait until the sun came out from behind a cloud. Then the stained-glass windows lit up and she kissed you quite ardently after going into hysterics trying to smell the colors and lick the floor (which you stopped her from doing, because ew). You thought very seriously about asking her to get quadrant-locked right then.

 

It’s easier than you thought it would be, natural as breathing, but…it has its down sides, too. She won’t visit you at your hive, not that you blame her, but it does get a little irritating. Her apartment is on the other side of town from any place you go and freakin’ tiny, and you’ve lived in some veritable shoeboxes in your time.  The one time you brought up getting a place together she laughed you out of the room. Really, yes, you understand, awkward feelings and residual hatred, but it doesn’t mean it’s not annoying sometimes. She’s busy, you’re busy, and sometimes meeting up just doesn’t happen no matter how hard you plan and try to rearrange your schedule. Gamzee is pretty good at wrecking it, though he swears he’s not doing it on purpose (you know that, gog, why do you keep complaining about things you can’t control?).

 

You’ve stood her up once, trying to talk Gamzee down from the roof (he wasn’t gonna jump off, he was just sitting up there staring straight at the sun like an idiot, honest, bro), by the time the case goes to trial.

 

You are going over what you’re going to say in that court block the night before the big day, smoothing her hair back from her face and tracing patterns on her horns. She’s dozing, shivering a little the closer you get to her hornbed. Her grin is smaller than usual, but for whatever reason it sends your thoughts scurrying away.

 

“I wish you didn’t have to testify tomorrow,” she murmurs, and you frown.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Couple of reasons,” she yawns. “One, I don’t trust you to keep your trap civil during the prosecution’s examination.”

 

Alright, she’s got you there, though the insinuation that you’d blurt out obscenities during a trial still rankles. You are a _professional_ , thank you.

 

“Two, you are very distracting and I need to be in top form if we’re going to keep Gamzee out of prison.”

 

And…you’re smug, but also upset, but also not, and you’re just sort of…confused.

 

“Sorry,” you say, preferring to accept the compliment rather than start a pointless fight. You’re too comfy to want to fight now. She shifts up from where she’s resting against your chest and kisses you.

 

“It’s going to be okay, Karkat,” she says, slowly and clearly, and you hold her a little tighter.

 

“Never said it wouldn’t be.”

 

And that is what you keep repeating to yourself as you pace in the hallway during a recess, absently chewing on your tie. Getting Gamzee cleaned up was an ordeal in and of itself, and took a better part of the morning. But by the time you were through with him he was clean, in a button-up and slacks, and the lines of his facepaint were neat and crisp. You’d tried to talk him out of wearing it, but gave up after a few minutes because you were running late.

 

And then there was the trial itself. Oh, man, you’ve been in situations that would make other guys piss their pants and hadn’t even flinched. But this? This is beyond your capacity to deal. Gamzee is with the bailiff right now, and shot you one nervous look before you were ushered out into the hall and forced to drink some crappy boiling-hot coffee. Maybe the person who gave you the coffee doesn’t quite realize that trolls and caffeine aren’t the best combination, especially during professional work hours, but whatever, you took it anyway. You were a key witness for both sides, as it turned out, and you told everything truthfully. Yes, you and Gamzee have known each other since you were little kids, yes you were moirails for about eight years before he went rogue, yes you were put on most of the crime scenes where he turned up and after you  made detective were put in charge of those cases, yes you did your best, no you didn’t stop looking for him just because of your feelings, yes you are still pale for him, yes you’re back in a functional moirallegiance, _no he isn’t mind-controlling you what kind of stupid question is that, you pan-dead son of a_ —sorry, your Honor, slip of the tongue—no, he hasn’t had any more episodes since returning from the Felt, yes you’re sure, yes, you are absolutely sure, you know your own moirail, after all.

 

You can hear Terezi now and then talking to someone down the hall, but force yourself not to make out any of the words. You instead focus on not fraying your tie and resisting the urge to call Jade, just for someone to talk to. You fail on that point miserably.

 

“Karkat? Everything okay?”

 

“Yeah, fine, fine,” you say distractedly.

 

“Don’t make me drag it out of you. I am not above blackmail.”

 

You frown. “At the courthouse. Waiting on the verdict.”

 

“Ah, I see. Need a distraction?”

 

You sigh. “Please.”

 

“Karkat says please, the end is nigh,” she chuckles.

 

“I say please and thank you all the time, I’ll have you know,” you argue. “Why is everyone always so surprised when I’m civil?”

 

“Because I’m pretty sure you and civil are words that shouldn’t be anywhere near each other for fear of spontaneous combustion,” Jade giggles.

 

“You can’t see this right now, but I’m offering you a finger. Five guesses as to which one it is.”

 

“Why, thank you, Karkat, I do believe my friendship deserves a thumb’s-up! What a thoughtful friend you are!”

 

“And don’t you forget it. Hey, how’s your brother, by the way? The idiot with the tattoo?”

 

“If you’re referring to Jake, he’s living with Roxy and avoiding her at all costs.”

 

“How’s that working out for him?” You don’t know why you’re asking about Jake English, of all people; you met him a few months ago and still don’t think much of the guy, though your initial reaction to him was mostly in wondering if you’d have to play auspistice again, this time between Dirk and Jane of all people. You don’t see the appeal. But you guess you’re kind of grasping on any old topic now. Terezi hasn’t stopped talking yet.

 

“Very poorly. He’s going to have to talk to her at some point.”

 

“Yeah,” you say, suddenly distracted because you think the jury’s back in.

 

“Karkat?” you finally hear on the other end.

 

“Yeah, I’m here,” you say vaguely.

 

“Good luck, alright? I’ve gotta go.”

 

You grimace. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Whaddya mean promise, I talked to you a couple days ago!”

 

“I’m just sayin’, you have a habit these days of devoting all your time and attention to so many things you start ignoring everyone important. Just promise you’ll get in touch with news, alright? And call Eridan, he won’t stop pestering me about what’s going on with you.”

 

You roll your eyes. “Ten-four.”

 

You hang up and go back inside.

 

Your eyes are on Gamzee, who is looking at his shoes, and you’re listening so hard you almost don’t hear the verdict at all.

 

“—temporary insanity, and advise the accused undergo extensive psychotherapy,” the troll reading drones. “We also agree that for the safety of the accused and those around him, he be allowed to return with his moirail, Detective Karkat Vantas, but only after he has been proved to be free of the psychic influence known as ‘chucklevoodoos’.”

 

Your knees buckle and you cover your face, breathing out a long harsh sigh. Terezi grabs your arm.

 

“Karkat, stand up,” she says urgently. “They’ll only let you see him for a few minutes before they take him back for studying. Get _up_.”

 

You do, just in time to grasp Gamzee’s wrist as he passes. He pauses for a long moment, blinking and smiling in a way he probably thinks is reassuring; then he’s gone.

 

You’re informed that your hive will also be subjected to a thorough chucklevoodoo cleaning and to find yourself other lodgings for about a week while the psychic sweeps have a poke around. You grimace, but agree.

 

You let Terezi lead you out of the court block and refuse to let go of her hand (maybe once briefly) until you’re both situated in your cruiser; then, you turn your hands and press your lips to her knuckles.

 

“You’re amazing,” you say softly. She loosens her hand and runs it through your hair, touching your horns now and then.

 

“Got an idea of where you want to crash for the next few days?”

 

You look at her, and she laughs.

 

“Sorry, but I’m going to be going through a sweep, too. Ex-kismesis and all. It would be best if you crashed with someone else.”

 

You frown. “What if I don’t wanna?”

 

“Them’s the breaks,” she grins, and kisses you. “How about Sollux, Eridan, and Feferi?”

 

You feel a chill run through your stomach. “No. No. No. No. No.”

 

She shrugs. “I’m pretty sure they were only joking about flirting with you.”

 

“I’m pretty sure Eridan’s been ‘joking’ since we were five or six sweeps,” you grump. “But I’ll think of something.”

 

You go back to your hive to put together a duffel bag, bid sweet farewell to your dwelling, grit your teeth, square your shoulders, and go to ask the only two dweebs you can think of that you’d be comfortable with.

 

Dirk and Jane are surprisingly accommodating.

 

You were expecting a relaxing week, so far as relaxing weeks where you have to go to work and deal with your coworkers and get mentally probed in the afternoons go. That, of course, is never what your life is like, because your name is Karkat Vantas and the universe hates you with the fiery passion of a giant green sun. Your mutual loathing is the lifeblood of all that exists in the eternities.

 

For starters, the case Dirk and Jane took turns into a murder investigation where a loving couple killed each other. Then the Midnight Crew, may their moldering carapace segments rot in that aforementioned loathed sun, appears to be involved. Then Jane won’t talk to you, and then she does but only if you agree to let her in on the case, and of course you let her in, because no matter how much your instincts scream she doesn’t need to be here, a part of you understands that she wants another shot at taking down the guys who murdered her dad. You understand wanting that.

 

And then, on the day when you have to talk to a shrink to get your final psychic sweep and OK to get your moirail back…the blood test on the playing cards comes back.

 

You don’t call Jane Crocker first. You call Terezi Pyrope.

 

“Karkat!” she says, and you haven’t seen her in a week either so you briefly start grinning stupidly when you hear her voice. “What’s up?”

 

“I have a problem,” you reply. “What do you do when you have something big to tell a person, but you don’t want to because you know it’s going to rip their blood-pusher out all over again?”

 

Terezi pauses. “Something you want to tell me, Karkat?”

 

“What? No, it’s not what you think,” you say hurriedly, “I’m talking about Jane. I…have concrete evidence that her hunch was right, but if her hunch was right, that means something bad is probably going to happen, and I don’t want to put her through any more hell than she’s already been through.”

 

Terezi is silent for a while, then says, “I think she deserves to know, whatever it is. It’s about her dad, right?”

 

You huff. “Maybe.”

 

“Then that’s my advice. If it’s about her father, she will probably want to know, and she won’t thank you for keeping secrets from her. She’s a big girl. She can handle herself.”

 

You frown, scrubbing your hand over your scalp. You happen to know quite a few secrets you’ve been keeping that she’ll flay you alive for, if she ever finds out. An old memory of an ancient troll pinching your cheek surfaces, and you force it down.

 

You tell Jane.

 

She does not take it well.

 

You’re worried about her as you go to meet the shrink, one Aranea Serket, a young troll about Kankri’s age who you are absolutely sure is related to Vriska Serket. Her hair is shorter and her smile is much kinder, and she shakes your hand.

 

“Hello, Detective. Are you well?”

 

“Fine,” you grunt. “Let’s get this over with.”

 

She sits down and shuffles the papers on her desk. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and then I’m going to do a psychic sweep, just to be certain no harshwhimsies are in your pan, alright?”

 

You nod.

 

“How long have you known Mr. Makara?”

 

You chew your lip. “Uh…about eleven sweeps?”

 

“Long time,” she comments, scribbling down the figure. “Was it a friendly relationship?”

 

“One-sided, for a long time,” you say, and despite yourself you smile. “The nookwit called me ‘best friend’ since the first time he met me. I didn’t realize how pale I was for the goofus until an…incident…a couple months before high school graduation.”

 

“What incident?”

 

“He attacked some of our friends,” you say shortly, “and I stopped him. Papped him right out of it.”

 

“And how long did your moirallegiance last, after that?”

 

“Couple sweeps. Then he left to pursue his stupid ‘messiah’ or some crap like that.”

 

“That must’ve been hard.”

 

“It was,” you say, and your throat constricts. “It…it was really, really hard.”

 

“Why did you insist on being assigned to those cases related to him?”

 

“Because I knew if I could just find him, I could snap him out of it. Calm him down again.” You look at her. “You’re a troll. Don’t you have a moirail, or someone you care about a whole lot? Someone who keeps you from doing bad things, or that you keep from doing bad things? Someone who you love with every fiber in you, no matter how mad they make you or how bad they get?”

 

Her eyes are a little softer, that weird seven-pupil eye a smidge brighter. “I do.”

 

“Then you know,” you say shortly. “Gamzee is an idiot and he’s made some horrific choices. But he’s my palemate. He’s mine.”

 

She nods. “I’m going to do the mental scan now. You may experience some discomfort.”

 

You tense up, and are overwhelmed with an influx of your own memories, mostly including Gamzee—you and Gamzee pushing each other on the swings, Gamzee chasing you down and tackling you in a hug on the playground, you showing up at Gamzee’s house and screaming at his indifferent guardian, you holding Gamzee while he sobs into your shirt front, Gamzee dragging you out of a fight with a gang of stupid seniors and patching you up in the school bathroom, you with your arms tight around his middle while he trashes a couch cushion screaming bloody murder, you and Gamzee curled up in the slime murmuring pale nothings at each other, the first night after he left, the first night after he came back. Holding his wrist in the court block.

 

Your eyes are a little moist when you come back to yourself, and Ms. Serket discreetly dabs at her own.

 

“Well, Detective, I don’t see any red flags,” she smiles. “Gamzee will be delivered back to your hive tomorrow morning.”

 

You nod, shake her hand, croak a thanks, and tear back to Dirk and Jane’s apartment.

 

Dirk looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes, when you bust through the door and start stuffing your junk back in the duffel bag.

 

“Go good?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” you say fervently, suddenly standing up and looking at Jane’s door. “Is she…?”

 

“Gonna be alright,” Dirk nods. You turn to go, and he is suddenly in your path, looming over you with his shades dark and impenetrable.

 

“Next time you want to give Jane news like that that’s gonna make her go off the deep end for a couple hours,” he says quietly, “do us both a favor and don’t. Or at least tell me first so I can break it to her in person.”

 

You swallow hard. Dirk is doing that thing where his voice gets all low and soft and his body is one hard line of muscle and cold-simmering rage.

 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, because what else are you supposed to say? “I’ll do better, I swear.”

 

He nods, and flashsteps back to the bar, nursing a hot cocoa like he’d never moved. You blink, look back at Jane’s door, and leave.

 

Gamzee is much-subdued when he comes home, though you are probably a little more so; you’ve been up all night. Debating with yourself, mostly, but also going through your stuff and Gamzee’s with a panicked frenzy, to make sure everything is in place. Then you started cleaning. Then you finished your self-debate and hustled back to Dirk and Jane’s to slip something in their mailbox.

 

Gamzee collapses on the couch where you were dozing and watching the human version of the Thresh Prince of Bel-Air (this version doesn’t even make sense—the relationships are totally skewed, especially the dysfunctional moirallegiance with Karltn, and there is absolutely no classic slapstick murder, but whatever), and you join him and let him curl up as tight around you as he wants.

 

“Missed you, bro,” he murmurs. You bonk his forehead with your mouth.

 

“Missed you too.”

 

You get all of your gross pale reunion cuddles out of the way before Dirk and Jane show up later that evening, dressed to the nines and ready to infiltrate a mobster hideout. You notice, for the first time, something weird between Gamzee and Jane, and if you didn’t know any better…nah. There’s no way.

 

You spend the rest of the evening pacing, and then when John Egbert, of all douchelords, texts you that Jane is in the hospital, you grab Gamzee and tear towards downtown like a bat out of a belfry.

 

The doctors come out after a couple hours and says she’s fine, and you visit her once when she’s still out cold, but your time is no longer your own; you are now busy sifting through the metric ton of paperwork from the Hanson accounting firm. You make a mental note to give Jane one of her idiotic human hugs when you see her, and maybe punch John in the face for not talking to you, either. You thought you and he were bros, after all. But you’ll have a nice long chat with him later.

 

You visit Jane once at home, which turns into an awkward moirail cuddle double-date with John as fifth wheel, and give her the good news: the Midnight Crew is basically finished. As soon as they so much as sneeze you’ll have their exoskeletons cooling their fronds in your cells with a one-way ticket to prison, like they finally deserve. You feel that merits a little celebration and call Terezi up for a date.

 

It takes a little longer to make it into work the next couple of days, because, well, Terezi lives in the middle of nowhere, Altville. Gamzee copes pretty well with it, all things considered, but when you start spending the night at your hive again he does the equivalent of the human woven finger trap and locks up around you.

 

You’re making spaghetti when you notice the shiny black Rolls-Royce circling the neighborhood.

 

“Gamzee,” you say cautiously, “why don’t you go take a walk?”

 

He perks up, frowning. “What?”

 

“You look a little restless,” you say, though he hasn’t moved in an hour or so. “And you need some exercise. Go take a walk.”

 

He looks at you, uncertain, and you haul him up and pat his cheek.

 

“It’ll be good for you. Dinner’ll be ready when you get back.”

 

He nods, and leans forward and touches foreheads.

 

“Try walking to the corner store and back,” you say. “Bring home some candy.”

 

He grins, nods, and leaves.

 

He’s been gone for ten minutes when your front door is blown through.

 

You give them hell because yeah _right_ you’re gonna let Hearts and Spades take you without a fight, but eventually you get clocked in the head and black out for a good long while.

 

When you wake up, you are in a chair, tied to Dirk Strider, and get to listen to Spades Slick tell you _aaall_ about how he thinks Gamzee Makara killed Jane Crocker in a fit of vengeance.

 

You’re pissed, of course, because you want to believe Gamzee wouldn’t do that anymore, but a very small part of you whispers that _that is exactly what he would do if he thought Jane kidnapped and killed you_. You struggle against your ropes, your eyes misting red (not with tears, because you’re in the middle of being kidnapped and you are _not_ going to cry in front of Spades Slick), and then blink as Diamonds Droog’s head smacks Spades Slick in the face.

 

It’s over very quickly after that. You take off after Gamzee as soon as Jane unties you, following the startled honks, and are there to pick up one of Gamzee’s dropped clubs and swing as hard as you can at Hearts Boxcars’ head. You barely make a dent, but he lumbers off to deal with whoever’s making Spades Slick yell and swear like a sailor and you pick Gamzee up off the ground. His face is half-covered in his blood, and your stomach swoops when you see it, but he blinks and grins at you.

 

“Hey, bro.”

 

“Get up, you insufferable bulgelick,” you mutter, and haul him upright.

 

There is a sick, tense moment where you are almost completely sure that Jane and John are going to kill Spades Slick, and you know you’d just let them. It’d be wrong. Slick is down, his kneecap blown to bits and his arm in pieces.

 

Then he says he doesn’t remember killing their dad, and the air goes out of their sails.

 

You think you’re relieved.

 

When you get home, you patch Gamzee up and he does the same for you, and together you crawl into your pod. He’s shaking a little. You burrow your face into his neck.

 

“You knew what was gonna happen,” he says slowly, “didn’t you, Karbro?”

 

You duck your face. “Go to sleep, idiot.”

 

You decide you dislike head injuries. But it’s nice when Terezi comes over and kisses your face, and she and Gamzee more or less ignore each other. Sitting on the couch, Gamzee leaning against your legs, your hand in his hair, and Terezi snuggled up under your arm on the other side, you have to admit that it’s not a bad life you’ve carved out for yourself. Kidnappings notwithstanding, your life is…well, it’s yours.

 

And you’re gonna fight to protect it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the only chapter so far that hasn't had an ending that sucked. XD
> 
> Fair warning: We are officially meshing with Dirk and Jane canon now, so the next chapter is going to be a little...well...let's just call it a refresher. >:]


	9. Jane

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand here we go, the penultimate chapter! 
> 
> Please see my Tumblr, the Sherlockbound tag, for a big announcement coming soon regarding the series. (http://aquilldeferred.tumblr.com/tagged/sherlockbound). Just FYI, this link is also available in the Information section of the whole series, and my tumblr url is in my profile bio. 
> 
> This chapter dedicated to my darling Sam, who helped me think of ideas for so many things regarding wrapping up this series and who is the self-appointed priestess of my mini-fandom. Thanks for the help, babe!
> 
> Anyway. Enjoy!

Your name is Karkat Vantas, and you are thirteen sweeps old (or, like, twenty-nine years, maybe, you need to get Jade to figure this out for you).

 

Terezi Pyrope has broken up with you.

 

You can’t say you weren’t expecting it. Between her devotion to her career, and you to yours, the time you’ve been spending together has been…well…it’s been a little lacking.

 

You’ve talked to Jade a lot about your relationship, and she listens because she is a good friend, unlike Strider, who is listening to Terezi while she complains about you—alright, yes, you’re being unfair, because if you get to talk to Jade she should get to talk to Dave who is like her Jade and—

 

But it doesn’t matter, because it’s over. She’s cleared out her drawer, you’ve picked up your shoes and toothbrush, and that’s that. You’re a little relieved about the shorter car ride to work again, and while you put on a good face, sometimes you sit in your sopor and stare at the ceiling and wonder if that was it, if you’ll ever get a chance at a relationship again.

 

You don’t think you will. You’re getting old.

 

You guess your mood is seeping into Gamzee, because next thing you know Jade is showing up at your door on a Friday night and you didn’t invite her. You look at Gamzee, who whistles innocently and continues making cookies. You should have known.

 

“Hey, you,” she grins, and vaults up on tiptoes to kiss your cheek. “Heard you needed a pick-me-up.”

 

“For the last time, I’m not going to that science bar with you,” you say flatly. She bops your nose.

 

“No, dummy, we’re having a movie night,” she chirps, shoving you aside and marching into the kitchen. You are hit in the legs by the massive tote bag she’s carrying around.

 

“Jade, are those VHS tapes?”

 

“And a VHS player,” she says. “Just in case.”

 

“What movies?” you ask as she dumps her bag on your couch and goes into the kitchen, carrying a box of microwave popcorn.

 

“Disney,” she says, and your mind blanks.

 

“What, now?”

 

“Disney movies,” she repeats. “You know, princesses and talking animals and happily ever afters?”

 

You stare at her. She claps her hands to her cheeks.

 

“ _Sit down, Karkat Vantas_.”

 

Well…you sit. And she puts a movie in.

 

And then your head explodes.

 

You are so immersed in the movie you don’t even realize you’re shoveling popcorn into your mouth until you choke and make Jade pause while you drink a ton of water. You watch the talking furniture and the girl who loves books and the monstrous Beast, who doesn’t look all that monstrous to you but whatever. You turn to her when the credits start rolling.

 

“Jade,” you say, dazed, “I am in love with you.”

 

She laughs, and you laugh, though her face is a little red. Must be too warm in here for her. You make a note to turn on the ceiling fan when you get a moment.

 

You are halfway through _Aladdin_ and a tray of cookies when there’s a ring at your door.

 

You open the door to see a teary-eyed Jane, shuffling her feet and chewing her lip and twisting her hem in her hands.

 

“Jane? What’s wrong?” you ask, ushering her inside. You guide her towards the couch, where Jade stands up and tucks her down where you were sitting. You nudge Gamzee onto a pile of pillows next to the couch and take his spot, tentatively rubbing her shoulder.

 

“What’re you guys up to?” Jane asks, her voice quiet and a little hoarse, and your gut wrenches.

 

“Watching movies. Where’s Strider?”

 

“Back home, he’s fine,” she says quietly. “What’re you watching?”

 

“ _Aladdin_ ,” Jade says, shooting you a look over her head. You purse your lips but agree. You are most interested in the story of the sassy princess and the street rat.

 

Jane loosens up eventually, after you put in _Cinderella_ , and after another few bags of popcorn and another batch of cookies (Gamzee’s getting great at baking, if you do say so yourself; you’d set up a bake date with Jane and Gamzee if he didn’t have a little black crush and she didn’t hate his guts). She laughs and smiles, at least. You don’t think Strider hurt her, or would ever, but something very weird has been going on with those two since the end of the Midnight Crew case.

 

She’s been mugged, beaten, stabbed, shot at, and altogether knocked around in her time, and you’ve never really seen her like this. The few times she’s been weepy around you, it was about her dad or her brother. It’s driving you crazy, so before Jade puts in another movie, you touch Jane’s arm.

 

“Okay, what’s going on?” you say. “And if you try to say you’re fine, so help me gog, I will turn this party around and make you watch all my romcoms again.”

 

She frowns at you. You frown back. She looks at Gamzee. Gamzee looks at you. You nod at him.

 

“We’ll call you back in when we put in another movie, alright?” you say, and Gamzee huffs and stands and walks into the kitchen. Jane sighs, rolls her eyes, and scrubs at her short black curls.

 

“Me and Dirk…” she trails off, and you let yourself growl a little. You are going to strangle him with his shades. Screw physics, you will find a way.

 

“Did you get in a fight?” Jade asks, and she shakes her head.

 

“We…uh…” she turns red, and it’s all you can do to not comically facepalm and do the most graceful flip off the nearest handle. You refrain, because this isn’t like your romcoms, this is her life, and she needs you to be serious.

 

“Did you kiss?” you ask bluntly, and she nods. Jade squeezes her a little tighter.

 

“I just…we’ve been moirails for a long time now, and it’s not like it’s the first time, but it was…different.”

 

“Different how?” you ask. “Like, flushed-different?”

 

She hesitates, then nods.

 

“Did he…?”

 

“He started it,” she says, “I reciprocated.”

 

You rub your jaw. “So how’d you wind up here in tears, Jane?”

 

She looks at her fingers.

 

“First time I kissed him for real, it was just after the end of the Midnight Crew case,” she says, and, well, that’s one mystery solved. “We both agreed we weren’t quite ready for anything like that. We were fine for a few months, then starting up about two or three months ago things started getting really weird—really confusing. Mixed signals, small fights, one or both of us disappearing for a while. I thought it was just cabin fever or something, and then…”

 

“And then?” Jade prompts.

 

“We just stayed on the couch all day today,” Jane says, and her voice is tender. You are a little embarrassed. “Snuggled up and watched old TV shows. After a while we just turned it off and maybe dozed off for a while, but when I woke up and looked at him he just kind of…went for it.”

 

She’s touching her mouth and if that isn’t the cutest, most romantic thing…you shake your head. Focus, Vantas.

 

“What happened next?” Jade asks gently.

 

“Kinda started getting a little heated,” Jane replies. “My brain kind of engaged at the last second, and I pushed him back a little. Just…the way he was looking at me…” She rubs her arms. “I didn’t know what to do or how to handle it, so I got out of there. Realized I made a mistake, had a good long cry about it, came here because I need some guidance.”

 

“Well, Jane,” you say slowly, “you know what this sounds like, right?”

 

“I know,” she sighs. “Textbook vacillation.”

 

“Honey, you’ve got to talk about it with him,” Jade says. “He’s probably worried sick about you right now.”

 

“Probably,” Jane muses. “I left my phone.”

 

You swear, get up, and check your phone. Six missed calls.

 

“She’s here,” you say when Dirk picks up on the first ring. “She’s fine, she’s safe.”

 

Dirk breathes a ragged sigh of relief. “Thanks.”

 

“She has also told us what happened,” you say pointedly.

 

“Let me talk to her,” he says immediately.

 

“Hang on.” You move the phone back. “Jane?”

 

“Not right now,” she shakes her head. “I’ll talk to him when I get home. Promise.”

 

You relay the message, and Dirk exhales slowly.

 

“Okay.”

 

You say bye and hang up, and rejoin Jane and Jade.

 

“You can’t avoid him forever, Jane,” Jade is saying. “It’s not going to help your moirallegiance in the long run, and could hurt any other kind of relationship you want to pursue in the future.”

 

“I’m not avoiding him,” Jane says, and her voice is regaining its brisk edge. “I’m removing myself from a confusing situation until I feel prepared to deal with it.” She sits back. “Can we watch _The Little Mermaid_ next? I think Karkat would appreciate it.”

 

You study her, frown, and call Gamzee back in. Whatever. On her own time.

 

You walk Jane back to her apartment, because she doesn’t feel like sitting in a car and you need to stretch your legs anyway. She’s quiet the whole way, and you’re fishing for something to say by the time you reach the door of her building.

 

“Uh, hey,” you say, “you can come over any time, you know. If you don’t feel like being home.”

 

“I know,” she says, and touches your arm. “I’m glad I can trust you.”

 

Your gut gives a very vicious twist.

 

_I think it’s time we had another chat._

 

“Yeah,” you mumble.

 

“Maybe I haven’t said this to you enough, but thank you for looking out for me.”

 

_Janey-Jane’s getting a little too close to my irons, you feel me?_

 

“You’ve always looked out for me, ever since you came onto that crime scene.”

 

_Gotta kelp that gill in line._

 

“Me and John, we owe you our lives.”

 

_What if I don’t agree?_

 

“And I really appreciate how honest you always are with us. With me.”

 

_Then you can start kissin’ your fronds goodbye. Startin’ with that mouthy bro of yours._

 

“And I just wanted to say thanks.”

 

_Or maybe with Johnny Boy. How bad you wanna bet puttin’ down her brother would hurt when she realizes it’s your fault, Crab-bait?_

 

You smile thinly at her. “Yeah, no problem.”

 

She hugs you, and disappears inside her building. You rub the back of your neck, sigh, and by the time you return home you’re stewing in a lovely cocktail of guilt and self-loathing.

 

Jade hasn’t left yet, still in the process of gathering up her movie cases and rewinding the few you’ve watched, and Gamzee is scrubbing up the dishes. He draws a soapy arm around you and kisses you between the horns. You give him a tight hug and go to help Jade.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks as soon as you walk in. You grimace. Are you so transparent to her?

 

“Nothing. Just worried about Jane.”

 

“She’ll be alright,” Jade says easily. “I’m leaving most of these here with you so you can keep watching, alright? But I want ‘em back, so no stealing.”

 

“I will make no promises,” you say stoutly, and when she’s all packed up you hug her. Her hair smells nice. What conditioner is she using? Gamzee could use a different brand, you’re getting sick of what he’s using now.

 

She gives you a final squeeze and lets go, for whatever reason not looking at you until she grabs her bag and is halfway to the door. Then she looks back and grins.

 

“Feel better?”

 

No.

 

“Yeah,” you say, quirking a little smile. “Thanks, Jade.”

 

“Any time,” she says, and fizzles out. Gamzee comes up behind you and slings his arms around you shoulders, his chin leaning on top of your head. His hands are cool and a little wrinkly from the dishes.

 

“Jade-sis is pretty sweet,” he says.

 

“Thanks for calling her,” you reply, patting his arms. “I’m gonna turn in. Don’t stay up too late.”

 

“You got it, best friend.”

 

You’re still awake an hour or so later when he crawls in with you, opens his mouth, and shuts it again.

 

“What?” you ask, shifting over. He bites his lip and hoods his eyes.

 

“Met a miraculous brother today,” he says softly. “Sweet little dude. Well, he ain’t little. He’s got a sweet rack.”

 

You snort. “What’s his name?”

 

“Tavros,” Gamzee says, and the shy wonder in his voice is absolutely adorable. “Tavros Nitram.”

 

You know that name, you know you do…ah. Tavros Nitram, the chump who got his legs broken by Vriska when they were wrigglers. You’ve never met the guy yourself, but you’ve seen pictures. Terezi kept in touch with him. Objectively speaking, he was not unattractive. Broad-shouldered, but would have to be to carry those horns. Big brown eyes. No wonder Gamzee’s head-over-heels.

 

“Where’d you meet him?”

 

“Came into the diner today,” Gamzee says. “Ordered a grilled cheese and chocolate milk. I gave that brother some PB cookies on the house.”

 

You grin at the lip-chewing wide-eyed look on his face. “You gonna see him again?”

 

“If providence all up and shoves us back together, bro, yeah,” Gamzee sighs. “You shoulda seen his smile, bro. Woulda wiped all the sadness from your soul.”

 

You seriously doubt that. But you’re glad Gamzee is finally starting to branch out a little more. You’ve been worried that he might get tired of you or the moirallegiance might get stale again, with how much time you’ve spent around each other. But, to your immense pleasure, he hasn’t left again yet. You think you’re finally starting to relax around him again, fully relax.

 

A few months go by. You don’t see much of Dirk and Jane, because you are avoiding them in an effort to keep them safe (and Kankri and John and Gamzee and Jade and everyone else you have ever cared about), but Dirk gets a job at Jade’s company soon after that night and then meets Cronus Ampora, Eridan’s hatchmate whom you have never personally met but doesn’t throw up too many red flags when you do a background check. Jade was ecstatic and it was cute to see her so excited. You’ve been seeing a little less of her recently, but you don’t know if that’s because you’re drifting from her, too, or if you’re both just busy. Gamzee meets Tavros again, and they begin a shy, sweet little friendship that involves awful rap and you have to leave the hive whenever they’re together because _bluh_.

 

You are riding a four-wheeled motorized vehicle into the ravine of secrets and self-loathing. Gamzee knows something is up, because he keeps touching you and soothing his thumbs over your cheeks and you can see his worry when his touches don’t smooth out the tension in your shoulders. You keep telling him it’s not his fault, and you hope he knows that, because you are holding him pretty tightly at night now thanks to your fresh crop of nightmares (thank you, producers of sopor slime, for your wondrous product that does nothing whatsoever to get rid of your tension headaches and back troubles), but there is a haunted look in his eyes sometimes when you shift out of his reach. You’re wallowing a little. You think you’re entitled to it.

 

And then Jane finds out.

 

Her face was probably the worst. You knew she was going through a hard time, between Dirk actually moving out of their apartment (unconscionable, palemates don’t move out or move away unless they’re breaking up, and you really hope they’re not breaking up), but for some reason she looks almost…waxy, under the dim lights. Her figure is plump as ever, but there’s a lean hunger to her and you can’t figure it out. She’s scaring you.

 

Which is fair, because you’ve been lying to her and tampering with evidence and _she trusted you_.

 

You think about taking her to the station when you get her away from the press release, but know that if you do that you’ll shatter whatever’s left of your friendship. Your blood-pusher leaps into your windhole at the thought. So you take her home, and impress upon her the importance of keeping her head down. You hope. You are so worried about her, because she’s moving with purpose but not how she used to. She’s moving how she did after John got shot—too reckless, too willing to put herself in harm’s way, too dangerous.

 

You don’t think she and Dirk are okay.

 

But you leave him a message and tell him in no uncertain terms to get his hide over to her apartment and work it out.

 

And then…one day…you get a text from Dirk’s phone.

 

_Jane shot herself. At the hospital wvith Dirk. Wvill text room# soon as wve know._

 

You flip on the lights and drive like you think going ninety on the interstate will make time slow down.

 

She’s gone by the time you show up.

 

You turn around and punch right through the wall. You would do more damage to it, but the gut-wrenching sobs coming from the bed give you pause.

 

You’ve never heard a Strider make that noise before. You have just decided that you never want to.

 

But it’s too late for that.

 

Jane’s dead. Jane Crocker is dead.

 

And you might as well have pulled the trigger yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And by "enjoy" I mean "lol remember when this happened byyyyye~"
> 
> This takes place in the year between We Solve Mysteries and See Jane Run, so have a little taste of what that year was like. Hopefully it clears up some stuff in the "wtf was going on there" department. Also, I apologize to the Karezi shippers, but by the time I was writing this I didn't have the energy for a big breakup scene, and me and my friend Sam both agreed that it wouldn't go out with a bang; it would be more of a slow decline. And Karezi was never meant to be the endgame pairing, anyway. Just a very big one in his life.
> 
> Again, check my Sherlockbound tag on my tumblr blog for an announcement soon!


	10. Jade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is, the final part of Sherlockbound.
> 
> IF YOU HAVEN'T READ DIRK AND JANE: WHEREVER WE ARE PART 2, READ THAT FIRST. YOU NEED TO HAVE READ IT TO UNDERSTAND THE CONTEXT OF THIS CHAPTER.
> 
> And if the endgame pairing here surprises anyone, I will kindly redirect you to my Tumblr. XD Anyway. Enough of my blather. ONWARD!

Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are fourteen sweeps (thirty years, who even cares anymore).

 

Your first day of work after the funeral you feel like you’re swimming through tar-soggy cotton balls.

 

It feels like everyone is looking at you, and you look ridiculous. And guilty. And red-eyed, but not for the usual reason. You’re listless and you actually volunteer to go through the paperwork, for everyone who’ll let you. They keep treating you like you’re fragile, the ones who actually tolerate you, and the ones who don’t…well, they all know what’s about to go down. Chief Regent is setting up the hearing now.

 

It’ll be a miracle if you make it out of the next few weeks with your job.

 

(Though, in the darkest corners of your mind, you’re not sure you want it anymore.)

 

The hearing is short, fair, and private. You tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Far as you know, Jane was the genuine article, or you wouldn’t have put up with her for so long. She helped you find the right perps, and she did it (mostly) within legal bounds. When it’s all over, you’re put on paid suspension, supposedly to “think about what you did.”

 

You’re not a wriggler. You don’t get time-outs. They need some time to really decide what they want to do with you. You have a couple weeks to decide if you want to give them the satisfaction.

 

Your first day home, you already start going completely nuts. You scrub everything in the hive down, you snap at Gamzee no less than six times for getting in your way, you chip at the uneven spackle on the wall from when you mistakenly invited your friends over to help you patch up after Hearts Boxcars and Spades Slick so kindly paid you a visit and Sollux’s psionics sent a whole can of the stuff flying everywhere. You think about hanging with your best bro again, just him and you, and decide against it. He’ll need to be in the shop helping Mr. Captor (your whole life you’ve known the man, and he’ll never be Mituna to you). But you kind of miss him. You should call him up one day. Him and Eridan both. With the ground rules that there is to be no tonguing in your presence, but they’re pretty good about keeping it together around you. You don’t give them enough credit.

 

You’ve been home for three days when Jade shows up. It’s been a particularly gruesome, humid day, raining off and on, and the night outside is stifling hot. When you open the door, you notice that she looks tired. Concern eats at you, despite your brooding.

 

“Everything okay, Harley?”

 

“Fine,” she nods, and smiles weakly. “A little bird told me you need to get away for a few hours.”

 

“You got something in mind?” you ask, looking over your shoulder at an innocently whistling Gamzee. You hold up a finger, trot to the couch, and hug him, tight and quick, then shuffle into your shoes and follow Jade outside.

 

To your surprise, she drove. Or maybe teleported both her and her car here. You remember a time when you were threatening her with car-related trouble as a young officer and she was a braceface laughing her way through your bluster. How things change.

 

“Prepare to have your olfactory senses blown, Karkat,” Jade grins, and when she smiles wholly like that it makes her look a little less exhausted. However, it does not make you not worry.

 

“You sure you don’t want me to drive?” you ask. “You kinda look like crap.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” she rolls her eyes. “And here I thought I was ready to take the Miss Altville title.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, you could take that title home even if you had the flu and were leaking out of every facial orifice you possess,” you snort, obediently getting into the passenger side. She turns a little pink, but rolls her eyes.

 

“Don’t be gross.”

 

“Then don’t be dumb.” You settle into the chair. “I just mean you look a lot less perky than usual.”

 

“Yes, well, I don’t know if you realize this, but Jane Crocker’s dead,” Jade snips, and then sighs. “I’m sorry. It’s just kinda…hard.”

 

“I know,” you nod tightly. “Let’s just go where you wanna go.”

 

“You’re gonna love it,” she grins, and starts driving.

 

The muggy air starts to cool a little once it’s passing through the open car windows, and the further from town she gets, the stronger the smells of nature are—dampness from the rain that hasn’t quite dried out, blooming honeysuckle, clover, and a plethora of thick, sweet smells from plants you can’t name but Jade probably could if you asked. A fat yellow moon hangs low in the sky, just under the tree line, and already it’s bright out even though there aren’t any lights. You settle back in the seat more comfortably and just breathe and listen and look. It’s nice. You didn’t realize how amazing it was out here.

 

Eventually she drives into a dead-end hollow, turns off the car, and glances at you, grinning.

 

“Join me on the hood?”

 

Well…sure.

 

The car is still pretty warm from the drive over, but for whatever reason you don’t feel smothered when you get out and recline next to her, your back against the windshield, your arm comfortably over her shoulders as she leans slightly against your chest. You pass some time pointing out constellations and watching the moon rise, and then Jade sits straight up.

 

“Look,” she grins.

 

You oblige, and see a whole bunch of tiny yellow lights dancing in the trees.

 

“Fireflies,” she says, and giggles. “I was hoping it was that time of year.”

 

You watch them swirl around each other, blinking slowly in and out, and grin, nudging Jade a little with your shoulder. She’s pretty adorable when she gets excited over nature. Not that you’d tell her out loud. You and Jade have a solemn vow to make sure you each know how gross you think the other is, even when she manages to make you purr with impromptu horn rubs and you can get her to squeak when you tickle her side. No. She’s totally unattractive and gross on top of that.

 

She’s looking at you right now.

 

Her eyes are bright green.

 

Her breath smells a little bit like that mint lip gloss of hers. You wonder if she’s wearing it right now, and glance, just to check. She is.

 

You’re not quite sure how it happens, but you find yourself thinking that you take back every disparaging comment you’ve ever made about Jade’s lip gloss. The tingle is totally awesome. After a few moments she pulls back, just a little.

 

“Are you trying to seduce me, Detective?” she asks, and it’s so cheesy and perfect you could die.

 

“I could ask you the same thing, Doctor,” you murmur, and _wow_ why have you never tried kissing Jade before.

 

Your stupid thinkpan engages a few minutes later.

 

You’re kissing _Jade Harley_.

 

Who you’ve known since she was sixteen.

 

Who is a lot younger than you.

 

Who doesn’t know what you’ve done.

 

You jerk back suddenly, and her eyes flutter open. You could kiss her again for looking so pretty right then, but all the warm fuzzies have more or less been replaced by all those worries you’ve been lugging around for…well, years.

 

“I can’t,” you say, and make a mental note to stab yourself at the nearest opportunity, because you always told yourself that’s what you’d do to anyone who ever made Jade look like that.

 

“Why not?” she asks.

 

“I—” Your arguments are starting to sound really flimsy under the weight of her gaze. She’s not even doing the unfair infant barkbeast eyes thing. She’s just looking at you like she’s your best friend and you’re hurting her in a way you never, ever wanted to. “I’m—Jade, I’m not… _good_ , okay?”

 

Her expression folds a little into a frown. “Karkat—”

 

“No, Jade, let me talk,” you say, because you have to get all of this off of your chest. “For one thing, I’m seven years older than you.”

 

“Six,” she corrects, “and I don’t care.”

 

“And…” you chew your lip briefly. “Okay, look, this is going to be really hard, because I haven’t even told Gamzee this, so it stays just between us, alright?”

 

She nods, because even if you’re probably crushing her heart she’s going to keep your secrets, just like you’ll keep hers. That’s how the two of you work, first and foremost.

 

You suck in a few deep breaths, and then you tell her.

 

Her brows contract, then her eyes go wide.

 

“Karkat, that…”

 

“I know,” you growl, and unconsciously tuck into yourself. “I know, it’s completely wrong and stupid and I’m the worst. I’ve heard it all and said it all, alright? But it’s not like I wasn’t justified. It’s not like I had any other choice.”

 

You wish she would stop looking at you like that, except for the parts that are vindictive and so very, very glad that at last someone is treating you the way you deserve—like garbage, like a slimy backbiting nookface, like the traitor you know you are. You clench your fingers hard into your arms. She gets off the hood, pacing a little.

 

“Karkat, this is huge,” she says, and you look at her, watch her. You wish you’d never kissed her, because it makes this so much harder. You miss the days when she had a retainer and pigtails, because it was easier to ignore her as a person you’d be into that way. “I don’t…I don’t know if…”

 

You force yourself to look at her, and for some stupid reason she’s the one who is looking at you with pity.

 

“I have to go,” she says, and with a fizzle disappears. You look around yourself, feel the buildup, and walk a short distance away. Then you uncork a scream that practically makes your throat shred itself—you scream for Jade and the relationship that could’ve been if you were less of a worthless piece of scum, for Jane and the bullet she put through her head, for your mother, for your sisters and brother, for Gamzee, for yourself for falling prey to a fish witch that knows exactly how to pull your strings and make you dance for her.

 

You’re not sure when you started crying, but you don’t stop for a long time afterwards.

 

At least she left you the keys.

 

Gamzee looks startled when you storm into the hive and pull him by the shirtfront into your respite block, but cottons on when your eyes start leaking again. He gets you both settled into the slime when you start shaking so hard you can’t move your limbs right, and you let yourself dissolve.

 

The one good thing is that you can still come back to Gamzee, when all is said and done. You might chase off your other friends, other potential quadrantmates, but Gamzee, you know now, won’t leave you alone when you need him.

 

Which is why you can never tell him the whole truth.

 

You are well aware of how much you suck.

 

The car is still there when you get up the next morning.

 

As soon as you go back to work, the days start to blend together. You’re walking in a daze. There is only one moment of clarity, and it stabs you in the gut.

 

_YOU’R—E OFF T)(—E HOOK CRAB-BAIT. )(AV—E A NIC—E LIF—E._

You blink and read the text three times.

 

Then you walk into Armie Regent’s office and lay down your badge and your gun.

 

You never deserved these in the first place. You don’t deserve them now. There’s no reason to stick around.

 

Chief demands explanations, of course, but he’s not going to get much more than “I just can’t do it anymore” out of you, because that’s all there is to it. You can’t. You just can’t. You assure him it’s not about Jane, because it isn’t, not really. It’s about you resetting the natural balance. You expended your use to her. Get out now before people find out, before she decides she’s just toying with you.

 

You already chased Jade away. Not much you can do with your life now.

 

It’s ironic that the same day you quit your job, Gamzee comes home brimming full of happiness fit to chase away the darkest of his broods.

 

“I did it,” he tells you giddily, “I kissed my miracle bro, and wouldn’t you know it, Karbro, he kissed me back, all shy-like and sweet, ain’t that the best miracle you ever heard of?”

 

You nod mechanically, and he squats down to look you in the face, shifting your hair out of your eyes.

 

“Karkat?”

 

You listlessly lift the corners of your mouth. “I’m really happy for you, Gamzee.”

 

His eyes are big and indigo and staring right through you. “What happened?”

 

You tip forward and bury your head in his shoulder. You don’t cry. You don’t move. You just let him awkwardly try to pap away an ache that’s been in your soul since you first joined the force.

 

“I quit.”

 

He holds you a little tighter. “That’s alright, my brother. If that’s what your destiny up and told you to do, you follow that persnickety bro right where it takes you.” A beat, then, “Why’d you do it, again?”

 

“Because I am a very bad, stupid person,” you mumble, and barely listen when Gamzee tries to assure you otherwise. He doesn’t get it. He won’t. He shouldn’t. Not if you can help it.

 

You realize you still have Jade’s car, months later. She never came back to get it. You never took it over. You figure until she returns your calls or texts or something, she’s not getting it back. She can teleport, what does she even need a car for.

 

You take a trip back down to Befforville, because you need some time away from Altville and all your problems. Porrim is confused when you show up, shivering a little from the sweeping rain and probably looking a lot like a scrawny wet cat, but wastes no time in bundling you up and toweling down your hair while a can of soup warms up on the stove.

 

Kankri is at a convention as a keynote speaker, which is just as well, because if you had to deal with his well-meaning blathering you would punch him in the schnozz. Instead, you let Porrim baby you, answering questions with the minimum required effort and just shaking your head when she asks the more serious questions.

 

“I’m not in any trouble, don’t worry,” you say hollowly. “Just…screwed a lot of things up.”

 

She brushes your hair back (you must need a haircut) and just studies you, her eyes worried but her mouth an unbroken line.

 

You can’t hide out here forever, though. You have a moirail who needs you and a hive that needs utilities. Gamzee’s diner income was only ever meant to be supplemental, not the sole money-maker. You hug Porrim when it’s time for you to go back, and spend the car ride up listening to Jade’s CDs. They’re horrible and you love them.

 

(You miss her.)

 

Somehow or another, you manage to get a job working as a mall cop. It is humiliating. You thought you’d outgrown heavy ill-fitting polyester. But you accept the indignity as a form of masochistic punishment, because you deserve this. You curse out teenagers and cuff shoplifters and though you’re pretty good at this mall cop gig, it’s not what you wanted to do long-term and you feel the bitterness creeping up every time you have to look your overweight carapace boss in the face, force a smile, and say, “Proud to be an Altville Security Officer.”

 

Mall cop jobs don’t pay a whole lot, either. Luckily, Tavros and Gamzee’s new matespritship is progressing so well, you both have Tavros convinced to move in within a few weeks. He’s amenable to helping pay the utilities, since he makes more than you and Gamzee now, and it’s worth it if you have to sometimes leave the hive to escape hearing the side of your moirail you never wanted to know about. Gamzee, bless his beautiful stupid pan, gives you plenty of warning by tactlessly asking, loudly and often via awful slam poetry, if they’re gonna need a pail later or not.

 

You’re still driving Jade’s car a year after the funeral. You still haven’t seen her. You’ve seen Dirk a couple of times, and he looks exhausted in the way no amount of sleep can cure. But when he approaches you about getting back into doing the detective thing, he has a small spark alive inside of him, tiny, but flickering bright. It seems to electrify him, brighten him up from the corpse he’s been looking like. It’s contagious.

 

You quit in the most flamboyant manner you’ve imagined over the past few months and hightail it out of there, laughing all the way.

 

In fact, you’re still laughing about it on the inside right up until the moment Strider pulls up to the Harley Industries building.

 

Jade looks as she ever did, maybe a little better-rested than when you last saw her. Her finger-reminders are plentiful as ever, but there’s one she keeps playing with…bright red. You glare at it. It reminds you of Dave. And then she flirts with Dirk right in front of you, and you feel a very hot, boiling feeling in your stomach. It’s not jealousy, you have nothing to be jealous of, it’s just that the thought of Jade with either of the Striders makes you wanna do a nice graceful pirouette, complete with tutu and ballet slippers, off your handle.

 

And then she talks to you, and she touches your face, and you have a powerful urge to kiss her again. You restrain yourself. If you’re on the path to redemption, like you strongly suspect you are after a year of self-flagellation, you’re not worthy yet.

 

(Besides, you recall later, Dave and Terezi have been a thing for almost a year now. She moved in with him and everything. An old part of you pangs that she did that for him and wouldn’t for you, but it’s in the past and you don’t begrudge her her decisions. They’re hers, after all. You should email her one of these days, because you know of a good fruit stand she’d enjoy…)

 

But she doesn’t have to make it harder by calling you for the first time in months just to ask about Dirk, though by the tone of the conversation she almost sounds…jealous? You dismiss the thought. She has nothing to be jealous about and if she doesn’t know that then you don’t have much hope for the survival of her species.

 

Dirk’s latest obsession is finding out what Jane was working on prior to her pulling her own plug, and after a few nights of McDonald’s and takeout and watching the strange three-way flirting between Dirk, Jake, and Roxy that seems heartfelt but not sincere, things start to clunk into place.

 

And then the story about Feferi running for mayor against her hatchmate comes to your attention.

 

And, well, you know what you’ve gotta do now.

 

“Hey, bro,” Sollux greets you at the back door. “Thorry it’th gotta be thith way, but the paparazzi are nutth.”

 

“I hear you,” you say fervently, listening to the throng on the other side of the building. “They wouldn’t stop hounding me for weeks after Jane.”

 

The penthouse is mercifully quiet, and Feferi is seated at the table, sorting through a collection of documents. She glances at you and grins, but returns to her paperwork.

 

“Hey,” you say, and sit at the couch. “I just heard the news. Congrats.”

 

“I know I can count on your vote, Karcrab,” Feferi says serenely, pausing her paper-shuffling to lean back and kiss Eridan as he comes down from the pool, stroking back his hair.

 

“Hey, Kar,” he greets. “What brings you here?”

 

You settle into the couch. “What made you want to enter the race, Feferi?”

 

“Two parts earnest interest in the city to one part spite,” she grins as Eridan sits down on the other end of the couch. “Sorry, Karcrab, I’m reely busy with this right now.”

 

You shrug and turn to Eridan. “Well, what do you think about all this?”

 

“I’m thinkin’ it’s glubbin’ dangerous,” Eridan says levelly. “I mean, you guys know as well as I do what Ms. Peixes is capable of.”

 

“Don’t remind me,” Sollux shivers.

 

“Batterwitch,” Eridan says flatly, and Sollux hits him.

 

“Cut it out,” you say wearily. They stick their tongues out at each other but desist. “I’m guessing you wouldn’t let her do it if you didn’t think she had a chance.”

 

“‘Let’ nothin’, Kar, no one tells an heiress what to do,” Eridan snorts. “But…yeah, it’s a little worryin’.”

 

“Tho I heard you were looking for a job again,” Sollux continues, “and ED had an idea for you.”

 

“Though one a these days you’re gonna have to tell us why you quit the police department,” Eridan says pointedly, and you give a half-shrug. “It’s kinda good for us that you’re unemployed right now. I want to put you in charge a Fef’s bodyguard contingent.”

 

You blink. “What?”

 

“You’ve got thome valuable ecthperienth in thith kind of thing, KK,” Sollux says, and for a moment it’s very scary how similar Sollux and Eridan look. There’s an empty space between them that’s Feferi-sized and you get the feeling that if she wasn’t absorbed right now they’d be forming a cage of limbs and psionics around her. “And we can’t go with her everywhere. And there’th no one we trutht more than you.”

 

Again with the trust thing when you don’t deserve it. But they’re your oldest friends and they really need you right now. Penance and redemption, you remind yourself. You can do this.

 

“Okay,” you nod, and then spend the better part of an hour arguing with Eridan that a firstborn grub isn’t adequate payment and several hundred dollars an hour every time you’re on-duty isn’t either but on the opposite end of the spectrum.

 

A couple months into the campaign, and you are feeling a little bit like your old self. It’s nice, ordering people around and being in charge of things again. Feferi is safe as hives in your hands.

 

Then Roxy and Sollux find the weird wire inside of the Crocker Corp PalmHusks.

 

You stare at it, tiny and pink and tentacle-like, and a tiny, tiny whisper in your head says that it’s a modified form of wetware, whatever that is. You shake your head and try to forget it a few minutes later. Though the fact that both Sollux and Mr. Captor can’t look at it directly or handle it for very long affirms that tiny whisper.

 

Dirk takes it to Jade, who tells him to tell you to get a psychic to mess with it. Which, conveniently, you have. Gamzee overdoes the chucklevoodoos with lack of practice; you see flashes of fiery wrist pain (not new to you) and a half-blinded vision of binary and a column of large sharp pink wires (new, and terrifying, because you can feel them crawling into your brain for a moment before shaking off the harshwhimsies as easy as shaking off water drops. You’ve always been able to do that, once you get ahold of yourself). That answers the question: psychic transmitter.

 

However, it’s another three months before Roxy and Sollux, working together, manage to tear down the PalmHusk network. It’s had very close to a year to be subtly brainwashing the voters, and the popularity polls, after their initial dip, seem to show it. You are tasked with the enviable chore of getting Jade up to speed.

 

You’re not looking forward to this conversation. But you put on your big troll pants and do it.

 

You knock on her doorframe, and she looks up, startled. Her fingers are bare except for the singular red band.

 

“Come in,” she says, and sounds surprised.

 

You oblige her and sit down in front of her desk. “The Crocker Corp network is fried,” you say. “Roxy and Sollux finally did it.”

 

“Good,” Jade smiles, sitting back in her chair. “I was beginning to worry.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

You sit their awkwardly for a bit, then stand.

 

“Well, that’s it,” you say, but don’t move further. She won’t stop looking at you.

 

“Uh…see you.”

 

You turn to go, take two steps, and pause when a soft warm hand closes around yours.

 

“Wait,” she says, and you do. You let her spin you back around, and look her in the face. She’s staring at you, very intense-like.

 

“I miss you,” she says. “Can we be friends again?”

 

You have more or less become comfortable with the fact that you are a huge sap, so when your insides start turning to mush you don’t put up much of a fight.

 

“We were always still friends,” you tell her, “we were just on hold for a little while.”

 

She smiles, and your hands swing back and forth for a bit.

 

“So, do you want your car back, or…?”

 

She laughs. “Nope. Not yet. You still need it, right?”

 

You grumble, and she laughs.

 

“I feel like pizza. Do you feel like pizza?”

 

“I could go for pizza,” you agree. “Are you finished up here?”

 

“Obviously,” she laughs, and just like that it’s like the past year and a half never happened.

 

Well, not quite, because you are much more afraid of touching her now than you ever were. She doesn’t try to snuggle up and invade your personal space anymore, either, but you’re glad you remember each other’s movie preferences, if nothing else.

 

And, well, you don’t call her as much. And she doesn’t call you. And you think her and Gamzee are talking about you behind your back, which is fair, since you and Gamzee are talking about her behind her back, but still. Rude. He’s _your_ moirail.

 

But still, it’s nice to have a mutual friend who acts as a pseudo-go-between. In passing, you know that she isn’t mad at you, and she never really was, but short of talking to her about it and sorting it out, which yeah _right_ you’re gonna do when you just got her back, you’re not gonna know what the radio silence was all about.

 

The closer to the elections it gets, the more nervous you get; you’ve halted several assassination attempts and are feeling a little better about yourself, which tends to happen when you are allowed to punch people in the face. However, for whatever reason, Dirk isn’t talking to anyone again, and Jade is wrapped up in her work, and while it gives you the opportunity to talk to Sollux and Eridan and Feferi again like you used to, it’s still making you nervous.

 

The week before the elections and the Election Day Mayoral Reception at Jade’s family’s manor, she picks you up at your hive with a big smile and her purse, which is never a good sign. She doesn’t carry her purse unless bad things are about to happen to you.

 

“Load up the car and let’s go, Karkat,” she chirps, “we’re going _shopping!_ ”

 

Oh _no_.

 

And she grabs you by the wrist before you can abscond and drags you, kicking and complaining, to her car (which you need to clean out, whoops), and is pulling up in front of a suspicious-looking store.

 

“Jade,” you say, “are you getting me fitted…for a _tux?_ ”

 

“A _functional_ tux,” she says, getting out. “So you can still tackle bad guys, but look classy doing it.”

 

“And what’s wrong with my suits?” you sniff.

 

“They’re worn out,” she replies, taking your arm as soon as you get out of the car. “You need something fresh. Not actually a tux, I don’t think, but let’s see what’s in here.”

 

The second she steps into the store she starts jabbering away at a hovering lackey in something that sounds like a different language. You tune her out and look around. You have never wanted to hide under a blanket more in your life.

 

“Stop complaining,” she snips, flicking your forehead when you start struggling away from the tape measure being brandished at you. “We’re getting as basic as possible, probably one of the floor models so you can just take it home after a little bit of pinning.”

 

You grumble but submit, and you have to admit, once the suit she’s picked out is on and pinned in the right places, you do look pretty good. She has a self-satisfied smirk on her face, so you pull it together and grimace.

 

“I look stupid.”

 

“We’ll take it,” she says brightly.

 

And, the night of, you arrive at the Harley Manor early. To get your boys to cover the area thoroughly, you say, and not because you kind of want her help in tying your tie. Gamzee is hopeless at ‘em and you’re not gonna wait around for Eridan again. Truthfully, you’re good at tying your own by now, but you kind of like the feeling of her hands smoothing down your collar and lapels. She’s in a very fetching long strapless number, black with a bright green sheen and silver sequins. Your blood-pusher attempts to throttle you by jumping into your throat.

 

“Show time,” Jade grins at you, and, well, you can get on duty when you leave. You hold out your arm and escort her down the stairs, pretending for a moment that when you reach the bottom you won’t have to let her go.

 

You are on your third sweep around the room when your arm is grabbed and you’re forced into an alcove. You snarl, but then stop struggling when faced with a pair of impossibly bright blue eyes.

 

“ _Jane_?” you gape. It’s definitely her. Same face, same eyes, same apologetic half-smirk, though she’s blond now. Or maybe it’s a wig. You gape.

 

“Yeah,” she says ruefully, “I’m not actually dead.”

 

You can’t close your mouth. Every wire in you has short-circuited. You probably look exactly how you did the day you realized where grubs came from, and on that day your mother kept telling you to close your mouth or you’d catch flies. Jane is talking. You are not comprehending. You read her eulogy and carried her casket, for gog’s sake, how is she—

 

She slaps you sharply across the face. Hello. Okay. Wake up, Vantas.

 

“Focus,” she says, and you nod. “I need you to keep an eye on Dirk.”

 

“Dirk?” you frown. “Why?”

 

“Because if he sees me, the whole thing will go up in smoke,” she says, and you nod. “I know, I am sorry, I owe you so many explanations, but those will happen after the Batterwitch has been exposed and taken down. Alright?”

 

Alright. Okay. Objective: Keep Dirk from Seeing Jane. Got it. Super. You nod, and she pats your arm and vanishes into the crowd. You close your mouth and resume pacing. Dirk isn’t here yet, but when he arrives, you know what you have to do.

 

Conveniently, he sits far enough away that even if he did see Jane ( _holy crap on a Messiah’s crusted bum Jane Crocker is alive_ ), he wouldn’t recognize her, at least not right away; you are able to properly divide your attention now, three ways: Strider, Batterwitch, and an ancient cackling troll who is the spitting image of Gamzee. He makes you nervous, because by the description, he sounds just like the troll who was putting the fear of the Messiahs into the PalmHusk users. Gamzee’s direct ancestor, you believe he is, Kurloz Makara. He keeps winking at you when you pass too close.

 

The Batterwitch is pretty obviously a bundle of nerves, at least to you; she keeps snapping at Mr. Ampora (who is looking very droopy indeed) and the waiters and basically everyone who isn’t herself. Feferi is nervous, but she’s playing grateful mayor-to-be while Jade plays gracious hostess. You look at her for a little too long now and then.

 

You patch up Dirk’s hand after he smashes a glass while talking to Meenah, which is a pretty convenient cover for getting him out of the room while Feferi and her party migrate to the stage. He’s quiet and brooding, and you do not envy him right now, nor where he’s going to be when he finds out Jane isn’t really dead, which you’re still trying to wrap your head around.

 

You keep patrolling the outside edge of the room, and are in fact as far from the stage and the cameras as it’s possible to be when everything goes downhill. That makes rushing to the stage a lot harder when people are panicking and a consulting detective makes her debut back from the dead.

 

You listen to her accusations and her showboating, only pausing when you hear your name after the words “attempted murder”, and look at Jane, who is a little preoccupied with decimating the Batterwitch’s reputation. You see the coil of muscles in the fuchsia troll’s body before Jane does, and start really shoving to make your way up there.

 

It’s over in a flash of gold and thump of meat. Mr. Captor, your best bro’s guardian, lies skewered at the end of a trident, and you look to Sollux, whose eyes are wide and mouth is open.

 

Then Mr. Captor starts smoking and sparking and you have the sense to yell for the stage to clear and start shoving people down. You end up shielding someone as the whole place shakes under the boom, and realize you’re covering Jade.

 

You should be sticking around to help with cleanup and briefing the newspeople and making sure everyone is okay. But that’s what Feferi is doing right now, so you leave her to it and follow Jade, Jane, and Dirk into an office, where the cherub Calliope is waiting.

 

You listen to their story, and though you are pissed as a wet cat about the fact that Jade _knew_ and didn’t tell you or anyone, and that Jane _is not actually dead_ , you are more tired and relieved than anything. Once you hear Jane’s reasoning, you can’t fault her. She doesn’t blame you for giving in to blackmail, and you can’t do the same thing to her. You and Jane? You’re cool.

 

Dirk and Jane is another story, because he walks out as soon as Jane’s done. You survey her crestfallen expression and frown.

 

“It’s probably best you let him process it on his own time,” Calliope says gently, and Jane nods.

 

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” she sighs.

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” you say stoutly, “I have a job to finish.”

 

“I’ll come with you,” Jade says, and latches onto your arm. You don’t have the heart or the will to shake her off. You’ll talk soon. But not now.

 

You notice Feferi watching you as you direct the anthill of people around you, the bodyguards to the outer perimeters, the paramedics to the injured guests, the stupid media people around the smoking bodies of Meenah and Mituna (you hope Sollux is doing alright; from what you’ve glimpsed in between teeming bodies, he’s sandwiched between his kismesis and his matesprit so he should be alright eventually). Feferi’s eyes are giving you the willies. When the room is cleared and the manor secure you finally breathe a sigh of relief.

 

“Chief Regent,” Feferi calls, and you watch your portly former boss stride up to the new mayor.

 

“Yes, Mayor?”

 

Feferi grins a little at the title. “I was wondering about the possibility of Mr. Vantas getting his job back.”

 

Your jaw drops.

 

“Pretty good chances, I’d say,” Chief Regent says casually, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. “If the kid wants it.”

 

“He wants it!” you say quickly, tripping over your own tongue. You didn’t realize just how badly you wanted it back until it’s being waved in front of you. Without a Batterwitch around to blackmail you and without a reason to hate yourself daily…you miss your job. “I do! I wanna come back.”

 

You are begging and it’s undignified. Your dignity is shot with the rest of your nerves and your reserve stores of patience. Yes. You want your job back. Give it to you.

 

“I’ll see you on Monday, then, Detective,” Chief Regent winks, and you could cry and kiss someone. You have dearly missed that title.

 

You don’t see Jade for the rest of the night except to quickly wave goodbye as you put your arm around Sollux’s shoulders and help him out the door. Yellow tears are pouring out of his eyes, and he keeps looking at you, confused.

 

“Hey,” you say, jostling his shoulder, “it’ll be alright. Okay?”

 

You keep repeating that every so often to him, and though he doesn’t really respond the bony fingers digging into your side are confirmation enough that he’s listening.

 

He’ll be alright. You know he will be.

 

Things are starting to change again, and you think it’s going to be a lovely day tomorrow.

 

You don’t get the chance to talk to Jade for another few days, but after your first day back on the job (sweet, sweet job that you have again), you loosen your tie (it’s choking you a little), unbutton the top two buttons of your shirt (it’s hot, what else are you gonna do?), roll up your sleeves (again, hot day, need air), and run over to Jade’s little pumpkin cottage. It’s time you give her car back.

 

She’s just coming out of her bathroom when you walk in, her bathrobe tied loosely around her and her hair cascading in wet waves as she scrubs it between a towel to dry it. She pauses when she sees you, a little color rising in her cheeks, and, well, if that isn’t amazing, you don’t know what is.

 

“Hey,” she says, finishing with her hair and tossing it back over her shoulder.

 

“Hey,” you reply, your hands in your pockets.

 

She draws her robe around her a little more securely and grins. “Well? You know the house rules. Shut the door behind you and take what you want from the kitchen if you’re hungry.”

 

You do, and when you turn around she’s perched on the countertop in the kitchen, legs kicking a little. You casually walk into the kitchen, looking inside the fridge.

 

“Whatever I want in the kitchen, huh?”

 

“Whatever you want,” she confirms. You cross to the cabinet beside her, which is full of dishes. Then the cabinet on the opposite side. You look at her. She looks at you.

 

You hold up a can of beans. “This’ll do.”

 

She laughs, reaches over, grabs you by the shirt front, and pulls you in.

 

You text Gamzee one-handed a little while later while you and Jade are watching a movie, your other hand tracing patterns on her thigh.

 

_STAYING AT JADE’S FOR A LITTLE WHILE. YOU GONNA BE OKAY?_

_SuRe WiLl BrO. yOu AnD tHaT aWeSoMe SiS tIgHt As HeArTs?_

_THAT IS AN IDIOTIC PHRASE. I’LL BE HOME LATER._

_NoT tOo MuCh LaTeR, rIgHt? ;) ;) ;)_

_GO BOIL YOUR BULGE._

_PaLe FoR yOu ToO bRo_

_PALE FOR YOU, YOU IDIOT. <>_

_< >_ 

 

Jade is mostly asleep when you try to sneak out from under her. She latches onto your torso.

 

“Goin’ already?” she asks sleepily.

 

“Gotta,” you reply. “Got work in the morning.”

 

“Work, shmork,” she groans, but lets you go. You go to do up your top buttons again and she catches your wrist.

 

“Don’t. Makes you look like a pedophile.”

 

You chuckle. “I do not.”

 

“Do, too,” she grins. “I told you. First time we met. You gotta work on your pedophilic tendencies, remember?”

 

“Do I?” you ask, leaning over her and kissing her forehead.

 

“Yes,” she says, and you kiss her nose.

 

“Positive?”

 

“Uh-huh.” You kiss her cheek.

 

“Well, if you say so.” The other cheek.

 

“I do say so. Because I’m always right.”

 

“You’re ridiculous.”

 

“You’re absurd.”

 

“I love you.”

 

You didn’t mean to say that, because you’ve never quite said that to anyone else. With Terezi, it was always “flushed for you”. With Gamzee, it’s “pale for you”. You reserved love for family members, but you find it’s the only word to adequately describe everything you feel for this human girl—you are infuriated by her, so annoyed, so enchanted, so very much…well…in love. However, one does not say that to someone they’ve only just started kissing recently.

 

But she grins and slides her hand to the back of your neck, scratching her nails a little into your hairline.

 

“Love you, too.”

 

You don’t end up leaving when you mean to. But neither can you bring yourself to care. Your name is Karkat Vantas and you are in love with Jade Harley, who loves you back, and your life is a complete mess, but it’s all gonna work out.

 

You’ll see. It will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And...that's all there is, folks. Sherlockbound is over.
> 
> If you have comments, questions, concerns, WHATEVER, I would direct you towards my Tumblr (aquilldeferred) to ask questions! I will be answering everything and for some things, MAYBE writing mini-fic, so it should be fun! :D
> 
> Once again, an immense thank you to EVERYONE who helped make this possible, and I love all of you so very, very much. I hope we keep in touch and if I make something in the future, you'll stick around for it. :)

**Author's Note:**

> I know there are some holes in the storytelling, but keep in mind two things: One, this is a multi-chaptered work, so maybe something will be answered later; Two, you can ask away and I will not be offended in the least! Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> "I have never lived a year better spent in love." -Babel, Mumford and Sons


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